I  I 

I  I 


THE  COMPANION  SERIES. 


Our  Country;  West 


1900: 

PERRY  MASON  &  COMPANY, 
BOSTON,  MASS. 


V 


Copyright,  1897, 

BY  PERRY  MASON  &  COMPANY, 
BOSTON,  MASS. 


icroh  Library 


CONTENTS 


IN    ALASKA. 

OUR  ONE  AMERICAN  CASTLE LEIGH  YOUNG  3 

SITKA  AND  ITS  INHABITANTS          .        .        .        EDWARD  FIELD,  U.S.A.  7 

INDIAN  CANOE-BUILDING L.  NEVEN  12 

AT  A  SALMON  POOL         .        .        .        .        .        .        .   C.  A.  STEPHENS  17 

THE  LONELIEST  PLACE  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  FREDERICK  SCHWATKA  21 

ALASKA  ESKIMO  HOUSES JOHN  MURDOCH  26 

REINDEER  FOR  ALASKA           CHARLES  ADAMS  31 

ON  THE  YUKON J.  E.  CHAMBERLIN  37 

VOLCANIA C.  A.  STEPHENS  40 

THE  HERMITS  OF  WESTERN  ALASKA            .        .       C.  W.  PURINGTON  45 

SEAL  ISLANDS  OF  ALASKA M.  M.  BALLOU  49 

SEA-LIONS GRANVILLE  B.  PUTNAM  53 

HUNTING  THE  SEA-OTTER HENRY  W.  ELLIOTT  57 


AMONG   THE   ROCKIES. 

THE  BIGHORN  CANON      .        .        .        GEN.  JAMES  S.  BRISBIN,  U.S.A.  67 

HUNTING  ELK  ON  SKEES SHERWOOD  DAVIS  73 

VISITING  THE  YELLOWSTONE  PARK       GEORGE  S.. ANDERSON,  U.S.A.  78 

IN  THE  YELLOWSTONE  PARK C.  A.  STEPHENS  80 

ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  BURROS J.  H.  LEWIS  86 

CHINESE  RAILWAY  LABORERS        ....     ERNEST  INGERSOLL  90 

SOME  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  ANIMALS     .        .         PROF.  ARTHUR  LAKES  96 

WHERE  RAILROADS  GO   .        ...        .        .        .        .     J.  L.  HARBOUR  102 

DIGGING  UP  A  FOSSIL  MONSTER          .        .        PROF.  ARTHUR  LAKES  106 

A  PETRIFIED  BIG  TREE PROF.  ARTHUR  LAKES  112 

THE  HOLY  CROSS  AND  TWIN  LAKES  .        .        .        .     J.  L.  HARBOUR  117 

SIGNAL  STATION  ON  PIKE'S  PEAK                                           J.  H.  SMITH  121 


IN    THE   SOUTHWEST. 


THE  BIG  TREES  OF  CALIFORNIA    . 
THE  LUMBERMEN  OF  THE  SIERRAS 
A  ROAD  OF  THE  SIERRAS 
CALIFORNIA  RAISIN-MAKING 

DEATH  VALLEY  

THE  QUEER  SURFACE  OF  NEVADA 

PYRAMID  LAKE 

THE  GRAND  CANON 

CAVE-DWELLERS  OF  ARIZONA 

A  BUILDED  LAKE 

THE  OLDEST  AMERICAN  HOUSES 

NEW  MEXICO      .... 

ADOBE  .  .  SARAH   WINTER  KELLOGG 


.       M.  V.  MOORE  131 

WILLIAM  H.  RIDEING  135 

GRACE  ELLERY  CHANNING  139 

.   ELIAS  LONGLEY  143 

JACQUES  w.  REDWAY  149 

.    PHILIP  VERRILL  MIGHELS  153 

.        M.   V.   MOORE  157 

.         .          J.  G.  OWENS  161 

PRESTON  H.  UBERROTH,  U.S.R.M.  167 

.     HELEN  FRANCES  BATES  173 

HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON  178 

.  SARAH  WINTER  KELLOGG  183 

180 


ON    THE    PLAINS. 


THE  PRAIRIE  SCHOONER 

PRAIRIE  SIGNS 

PIONEER  LIFE  IN  DAKOTA       . 
THE  HATED  COYOTE 
BOY-LIFE  ON  THE  PRAIRIE     . 

RANCH  LIFE 

COWBOYS  OF  THE  PLAINS      . 
THE  GREAT  CATTLE-TRAILS   . 
THE  LANGUAGE  OF  CATTLE-BRANDS 
BREAKING  A  BRONCO      . 
A  CHASE  FOR  WILD  HORSES 
ANCIENT  FARMERS  AND  SPORTSMEN 
THE  WATER  CACTUS 
GOVERNMENT  CAMELS    . 


JAMES  FULLERTON  195 

HAMLIN  GARLAND  197 

THEODORA  R.  JENNESS  203 

I.  N.  'QUEST  209 

HAMLIN  GARLAND  212 

HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON  217 

J.  T.  TROWBRIDGE  222 

.    C.  M.  HARGER  228 

P.  W.  HORN  233 

HESTER  WASHBURNE  236 

.  MAX  OWEN  240 

AURELIA  H.  MOHL  244 

.     P.  C.  BICKNELL  249 

.        A.  I.  PECK,  U.  S.  A.  252 


IN     ALASKA. 


Our  One    American   Castle. 

Away  up  in  Alaska,  the  northwesternmost  part  of  our 
country,  lies  the  strange  old  tumble-down,  sleepy,  little  moss- 
grown  town  of  Sitka,  where  stands  our  one  American  castle. 

Crowning  a  rocky  headland  that  rises  precipitously  from 
the  water  on  three  sides  and  descends  with  a  steep  slope  to 
the  town  on  the  other,  is  the  castle,  with  a  small  but  somewhat 
formidable-looking  battery  at  the  foot  of  the  terrace  on  the 
seaside. 

The  castle  is  one  hundred  and  forty  feet  long  and  seventy 
wide,  and  is  built  of  heavy  cedar  logs.  Copper  bolts,  piercing 
the  walls,  rivet  it  to  the  rocks. 

The  Russian  governors  of  the  colony  held  residence  in  the 
castle,  and  traditions  of  the  social  splendor  that  reigned  there 
still  cling  to  the  weather-beaten  building. 

With  the  Alaskans  all  things  date  back  to  the  transfer  of 
Alaska  to  the  United  States.  Here,  in  the  days  before  this 
transfer,  princes  and  barons  ruled.  Something  like  regal 
splendor  prevailed  in  Baranof  Castle,  as  the  palace  was  called 
in  honor  of  the  first  governor. 

Travellers  in  the  early  part  of  the  present  century  give 
charming  pictures  of  social  life  at  Sitka.  State  dinners 
were  given  once  a  week,  and  a  constant  round  of  balls  and 
festivities  was  kept  up. 

Baroness  Kupreanof  crossed'  Siberia  on  horseback  to 
Bering  Sea  in  1835,  in  order  to  be  with  her  husband  at  Sitka. 
There  she  made  the  castle  a  place  of  rendezvous  for  all 
classes  of  society,  extending  to  each  a  charming  and  gracious 
hospitality. 

A  big  brass  samovar,  or  tea-urn,  was  always  boiling  in 
the  dining-room,  and  by  day  or  night  a  glass  of  the  choicest 
caravan  tea  was  served  to  every  visitor.  Beautifully  wrought 


4  OUR   ONE   AMERICAN    CASTLE. 

samovars  were  brought  out  from  Russia  by  the  leading 
families.  Specimens  of  these  curious  old  urns  may  still  be 
found  in  the  curio  shops,  though  they  are  rare. 

The  governors  brought  all  their  household  goods  from 
Russia,  and  in  spite  of  the  difficulties  of  transportation,  sur- 
rounded themselves  with  many  luxuries.  The  castle  was 
richly  furnished.  The  walls  of  the  rooms  were  lined  with 
mirrors  and  covered  with  Oriental  hangings.  On  the  waxed 
floors  were  buhl  and  ormolu  chairs  and  couches,  tables  and 
cabinets.  Such  are  the  recollections  of  some  who  remember 
Sitka  as  it  was  before  the  transfer.  In  those  days  we  called 
Alaska  "  Russian  America." 

October  18,  1867,  was  a  beautiful,  bright  day,  and  the 
landlocked  bay  presented  a  brilliant  panorama,  with  three 
United  States  vessels  —  the  "Ossipee,"  the  "Jamestown"  and 
the  "  Resaca"  —  lying  at  anchor  and  flying  their  colors  in  the 
harbor.  Farther  out  to  sea  were  anchored  the  Russian  fleet, 
gay  with  bunting.  From  every  pole  and  roof  in  the  town 
fluttered  the  Muscovite  colors,  in  an  almost  unbroken  line, 
from  the  castle  to  the  pier. 

At  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  United  States  troops, 
the  Russian  soldiers  and  the  state  officials  assembled  on  the 
castle  terrace,  at  the  foot  of  the  tall  flagstaff,  from  which 
floated  the  great  Russian  standard.  The  white  inhabitants 
of  the  town  gathered  around  the  group,  while  a  swarm  of 
dusky  aborigines  formed  the  background. 

As  the  clock  in  the  government  building  struck  the  half- 
hour,  the  signal  was  given  to  lower  the  Russian  flag,  and 
simultaneously  the  battery  of  the  "  Ossipee"  boomed  out  the 
national  salute  to  the  descending  colors. 

Then,  as  the  American  flag  ran  up  the  line,  and  the  Stars 
and  Stripes  floated  out  on  the  breeze,  a  prolonged  cheer  that 
rang  over  the  waters  came  from  our  three  ships,  while  the 
Russian  water  battery  on  the  wharf  returned  the  national 
salute  to  the  American  eagle.  After  a  few  more  formal  cere- 
monies, the  reign  of  America  had  begun. 


OUR   ONE   AMERICAN    CASTLE.  5 

In  1869  Mr.  Seward  and  an  official  party  visited  Sitka, 
and  were  entertained  in  state  at  the  castle,  where  General 
Jefferson  C.  Davis  held  command.  The  festivities  made  the 
last  gala  season  the  place  has  known. 

Secretary  Seward  carried  away  a  large  collection  of 
Alaskan  curiosities  and  souvenirs.  By  the  etiquette  of  the 
country,  the  fur  robes  laid  for  him  to  sit  on  in  the  lodges  of 
the  chiefs  were  his  forever  after,  and  the  interchange  of  gifts 
made  his  visit  one  long  to  be  remembered  among  the  natives. 

Mr.  Seward  took  with  him  a  dance  cloak,  covered  with 


The  Old  Castle. 

Chinese  coins,  which  the  Russians  had  probably  obtained 
in  their  trade  with  China,  and  sold  to  the  Indians  for  furs. 
When  the  Chinese  Embassy  visited  Mr.  Seward  afterward  at 
his  home,  they  gave  him  the  names  of  the  coins.  Some  of 
these  dated  back  to  the  fifth  century,  and  others  to  the  first 
century  of  the  Christian  era. 

When  the  castle  was  turned  over  to  the  United  States 
authorities  as  government  property,  it  was  magnificently 
furnished  and  in  perfect  condition  ;  but  in  the  period  after  the 


6  OUR   ONE   AMERICAN   CASTLE. 

troops  were  withdrawn  and  before  the  civil  government  was 
established  it  was  neglected,  like  everything  else,  and  has 
been  completely  stripped,  spoiled  and  defaced. 

Kvery  portable  thing  has  been  carried  off  —  the  beautifully 
wrought  chandelier,  the  queer  knobs  and  massive  hinges  of 
the  doors,  even  the  huge  old  porcelain  stoves  from  Russia. 
The  great  lantern,  and  even  the  reflector  that  sent  its  beams 
over  the  sea,  have  all  disappeared,  and  the  place  is  little  more 
than  a  ruin. 

The  hall  where  the  governor  received  and  entertained  the 
Indian  chiefs  is  a  rubbish  heap.  Of  the  quaintly  carved  railing 
that  fenced  off  a  little  boudoir  in  the  great  drawing-room, 
nothing  remains,  and  not  a  vestige  is  left  of  the  grand  billiard- 
room  to  show  that  it  ever  existed. 

The  signal  officer  has  rescued  two  rooms  on  the  ground 
floor  for  his  own  use,  and  some  inferior  law  courts  are  held  in 
two  of  the  bare  upper  rooms. 

The  only  other  tenant  of  the  castle  is  the  ghost  of  a  beau- 
tiful Russian  princess,  who  is  said  to  haunt  the  drawing-room, 
the  northwest  chamber,  where  she  was  murdered,  and  the 
governor's  cabinet,  where  the  swish  of  her  trailing  wedding 
gown  "  makes  the  bravest  turn  coward,  and  the  blood  of  the 
listener  run  cold."  So  at  least  the  superstitious  of  Sitka  like 
to  tell. 

At  Kaster  time  the  princess  is  supposed  to  wander  from 
room  to  room,  leaving  a  faint  perfume  of  wild  roses  behind 
her  as  she  passes.  The  superstitious  tale  gives  the  last  touch 
of  sentimental  interest  to  the  old,  weather-beaten  castle  of  the 
Russian  governors. 

LEIGH  YOUNGE. 


PUBLISHERS'   NOTE.    Since  this  article  appeared  in  THE  YOUTH'S  COMPANION 
the  old  castle  has  been  destroyed  by  fire. 


Sitka   and    Its   Inhabitants. 

The  scenery  of  the  inland  passage  from  Portland,  Oregon, 
to  Sitka  is  hardly  surpassed  by  anything  in  Switzerland  or 
the  Tyrol.  The  mountains,  it  is  true,  are  only  four  thousand 
feet  high  instead  of  fourteen  thousand,  but  in  place  of  the 
barren  masses  of  the  higher  Alps,  these  are  covered  to  their 
very  summits  with  dense  forests  of  rich  dark- green  firs  very 
much  like  the  famous  old  majestic  Norway  spruce. 

This  inland  passage  to  Alaska  is  made  by  a  chain  of 
islands,  which  begins  with  Vancouver  and  extends  to  Cape 
Ommaney,  sixty  miles  south  of  Sitka.  There  are  some  breaks 
in  the  chain,  where  for  two  or  three  hours  the  steamer  passes 
through  open  sea ;  but  for  nine-tenths  of  the  distance  the 
water  is  as  smooth  as  the  Hudson  River.  Day  after  day  the 
steamer  glides  through  a  grand  canal,  in  many  places  barely 
a  mile  wide.  The  water  looks  black  in  the  shadows  of  the 
almost  perpendicular  mountain  walls,  tipped  with  snow  and 
glittering  in  the  summer  sun,  while  frequent  cascades  make 
slender  ribbons  of  foam  amid  the  rich  masses  of  evergreen. 

As  our  steamer  entered  the  mouth  of  Sitka  harbor,  which 
begins  soon  after  Cape  Ommaney  is  passed,  the  sharp  back- 
fins  of  innumerable  porpoises  rose  as  if  by  enchantment  on 
every  side.  "They  always  wait  here  for  the  steamer,"  said 
the  captain,  "  and  keep  her  company  to  the  wharf." 

As  the  steamer  made  fast  to  the  wharf,  she  was  immedi- 
ately surrounded  by  canoes  filled  with  Indian  natives.  We 
were  at  once  struck  with  the  total  unlikeness  of  these  people 
to  the  Indians  of  the  United  States.  The  Siwash,  as  the 
Sitka  tribes  are  called  in  their  own  language,  are  a  short, 
thick-set,  heavily-built  race,  whose  traits  much  more  resemble 
the  Eskimos  than  the  North  American  Indians. 

Many  of  them  had  their  faces  blackened,  which  meant 
that  they  were  in  mourning  for  relatives.  We  learned 


8 


SITKA   AND    ITS   INHABITANTS. 


that  the  village  contained  two  sub-tribes,  and  that  when  a 
death  occurred  all  persons  belonging  to  that  tribe  went  into 
mourning. 

We  soon  approached  the  Indian  village.  It  is  built  on 
the  edge  of  the  water,  like  all  the  Alaska  settlements ;  the 
natives  are  all  maritime  tribes.  The  houses  were  square, 
substantial  huts  of  logs,  covered  with  thin  boards  and  arranged 
with  some  regularity. 

If  the  first  glimpse  of  the  Indians  was  disappointing,  the 
old  Russian  village  of  Sitka  we  found  picturesque  to  a  degree. 


General  View  of  Sitka. 

For  half  a  mile  back  from  the  shore  the  houses  straggled  in  a 
rather  graceful  way,  giving  pretty  curves  to  the  one  street, 
from  which  small  alleys  run  in  several  directions.  The  level 
plain  extends  about  a  mile  and  a  half  farther  back,  to  the  foot 
of  Verstovoi,  a  mountain  about  three  thousand  feet  high, 
which,  like  all  Alaskan  mountains  of  moderate  height,  is 
densely  wooded  to  the  very  top. 

The  bit  of  ground  on  which  Sitka  stands  is  probably  the 
only  level  spot  on  the  island.  Behind  Verstovoi,  peak 
rises  upon  peak,  forming  a  grand  terrace  that  ends  in  an 


SITKA    AND    ITS    INHABITANTS.  9 

immense  table,  almost  level  and  of  great  height ;  for  there,  in 
July,  glittered  a  great  glacier,  piled  up  thousands  of  feet. 

In  the  centre  of  the  village  stands  the  cathedral  of  the 
Orthodox  Greek  Church,  whose  dome,  in  Russian  fashion, 
was  once  bright  green,  but  now  is  sere  and  yellow. 

The  population  of  the  white  town  of  Sitka,  at  the  period 
of  my  stay,  was  about  three  hundred  and  fifty.  It  was  of 
every  shade  and  race,  from  the  blond  Scandinavian  to  the 
nearly  pure  Aleut,  with  broad,  flat  face,  little,  glittering,  beady 
eyes  and  coarse,  straight  hair.  There  was  a  handful  of  Jews 
—  the  true  pioneers  of  civilization  —  who  drove  good  bargains, 
and  made  a  living  with  pluck  and  patience. 

The  two  villages,  white  and  native,  are  separated  by  a 
high  stockade,  which  is  surmounted  by  a  sentry-box,  from 
which  the  Indian  village  can  be  overlooked.  A  gate  in  this 
stockade  is  opened  at  nine  o'clock  each  morning  and  closed 
at  three  in  the  afternoon.  Every  day,  as  soon  as  the  gate 
opens,  a  long  procession  of  squaws  and  children,  with  a  certain 
number  of  men,  depending  upon  the  season,  file  in.  Nearly 
all  the  women  have  something  to  sell.  They  offer  food, 
ornaments,  bead  work,  wood-carvings,  and  baskets  so  closely 
woven  as  to  hold  water  perfectly. 

After  disposing  of  their  wares,  the  squaws  spend  the 
remainder  of  the  day  much  as  their  civilized  sisters  might,  in 
shopping — that  is  to  say,  they  bargain  for  cheap  calicoes,  and 
sun  themselves  on  the  porches  of  the  stores.  Their  lords  and 
masters  waddle,  rather  than  stalk,  about  the  village,  showing 
as  keen  an  interest  in  molasses  as  their  wives  do  in  bright 
calico.  Molasses  appears  to  be  the  thing  most  dear  to  the 
Si  wash's  heart.  From  it  he  makes  one  of  the  vilest  and  most 
intoxicating  of  drinks. 

Just  before  three  o'clock  a  non-commissioned  officer  of  the 
guard,  with  a  party  of  soldiers,  marches  through  the  town, 
gathering  in  the  Indians ;  and  the  long  procession,  which  has 
been  steadily  increasing  during  the  day,  files  solemnly  back 
through  the  big  gate,  which  is  then  closed. 


IO  SITKA   AND    ITS   INHABITANTS. 

The  government  of  the  tribe  was  nominally  in  the  hands 
of  the  hereditary  chief,  An-na-hootz,  but  the  really  influential 
men  in  the  daily  affairs  of  the  Indian  village  appeared  to  be 
Sitka  Jack,  the  politician,  and  Skin-ne-ah,  the  millionaire. 
Neither  of  these  was  a  chief  by  descent,  but  they  had 
gradually  acquired  the  influence  and  assumed  the  rank. 

Skin-ne-ah  was  the  Vanderbilt  of  the  tribe  ;  he  must  have 
owned  at  least  fifty  blankets,  which  are  a  Siwash's  chief 
wealth. 

As  Sitka  was  an  Indian  reservation,  there  was  absolutely 
no  law  or  authority  in  the  territory  except  the  will  of  the 
military  commander,  who  was  also  Indian  agent.  As  the 
laws  in  regard  to  furnishing  liquor  to  Indians  are  stringent, 
no  molasses  was  allowed  to  be  sold  except  upon  a  written 
permit ;  for  though  the  natives  used  it  as  an  article  of  food, 
thjey  would,  if  they  could  get  enough,  make  liquor  of  it. 

In  spite  of  their  rum-making  and  drinking,  the  Siwashes 
are  probably  the  most  peaceable  Indians  on  the  continent. 
They  sometimes  commit  petty  thefts,  but  we  never  saw  any 
disposition  on  their  part  to  make  serious  trouble.  This  was 
fortunate ;  for  the  position  of  a  garrison  of  eighty  men, 
separated  by  a  stockade  only  from  a  village  of  certainly  six 
hundred  Indians,  would  be  very  critical  if  the  Indians  were 
hostile,  or  even  of  doubtful  disposition. 

Practically,  the  Indians'  only  weapon  is  the  old  Hudson 
Bay  smoothbore  musket.  The  Indians  were  not  even  good 
shots  with  this  poor  weapon,  and  rarely  fired  at  anything 
farther  away  than  fifty  yards.  Though  they  manage  to  kill 
more  deer  in  a  season,  probably,  than  are  killed  in  any  other 
part  of  the  United  States,  they  are  chiefly  indebted  to  their 
dogs  for  their  success.  The  dogs  are  curious  fellows,  resemb- 
ling large  coyotes,  with  coarse  hair,  erect  ears  and  bushy  tails. 

When  the  Indians  want  venison,  they  paddle  over  in  their 
canoes  to  one  of  the  islands  around  Sitka,  all  of  which  swarm 
with  deer.  Here  they  put  their  dogs  ashore,  and  then  draw 
off  a  very  short  distance  from  the  land. 


SITKA    AND    ITS    INHABITANTS.  II 

The  dogs  find  the  deer,  and  drive  them  into  the  water  at  a 
point  exactly  opposite  the  place  where  the  men  are  waiting ; 
and  the  Indians  shoot  them  at  short  range  in  the  water. 

The  Indian  River,  which  flows  back  of  the  village,  is  a 
favorite  spawning-ground  of  the  salmon ;  and  on  their  way  up 
the  stream  great  numbers  of  the  fish  are  speared,  or  rather 
hooked,  by  the  Indians.  They  use  a  long,  light  pole,  with  a 
short  piece  set  on  at  an  acute  angle  and  projecting  back  like 
a  big  triangular  barb.  This  is  armed  with  an  old  razor  or 
knife-blade. 

An  Indian  stealthily  approaches  one  of  the  deep  holes  along 
the  bank,  and  gently  dips  one  end  of  his  spear  beneath  the 
surface.  Keeping  as  far  back  and  as  well  concealed  as  possible, 
he  stands  motionless  for  an  hour  at  a  time.  Suddenly,  with  a 
quick  jerk,  he  raises  a  twenty-pound  salmon  struggling  on  the 
murderous  blade. 

We  could  not  learn  much  concerning  the  Indians'  religious 
belief.  They  do  not  seem  to  worship  idols,  although  they 
hold  certain  animals  in  great  reverence.  The  raven  is  regarded 
as  peculiarly  sacred ;  and  this  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  for 
the  Sitka  raven  seems  the  embodiment  of  wisdom  and  cunning. 

During  the  Russian  Christmas  holidays,  which  last  two 
weeks,  all  the  people  belonging  to  the  Greek  Church  go  about 
masked,  and  there  is  a  ball  almost  every  night. 

Alaska  has  proved  to  be  worth  many  times  the  seven 
million  dollars  which  the  United  States  government  paid  for 
it.  Aside  from  the  very  valuable  seal  fisheries,  the  mineral 
wealth  of  the  country  promises  to  be  prodigious ;  the  timber 
is  superb  in  quality,  and  practically  exhaustless  ;  and  the 
salmon  crowd  its  waters  in  countless  numbers. 

EDWARD  FIELD,   U.  S.  Army. 


Indian  Canoe-Building. 

While  the  inland  waters  of  the  northwest  Pacific  coast 
swarm  with  Indian  canoes,  a  white  man  rarely  sees  an  Indian 
building  one  of  these  graceful  craft.  For  this  fact  there  may 
be  several  reasons. 

First,  as  the  canoes  are  made  of  cedar,  and  carefully 
protected  from  the  weather  when  not  in  use,  they  are  long- 
lived  ;  hence  it  is  not  necessary  for  the  same  individual  often 
to  provide  himself  with  a  new  one.  Then  the  Indian  much 
dislikes  to  let  a  white  man  see  his  canoe  in  the  process  of 
construction ;  this  may  be  both  from  native  shyness  and  a 
desire  to  keep  secret  the  traditional  modes  of  doing  the  work. 

It  was,  however,  once  my  good  fortune  to  come  suddenly 
upon  a  very  aged  Indian  working  upon  a  half-finished 
canoe.  Among  these  people  the  canoe-builders  are  old  men  ; 
probably  because  they  become,  from  long  experience,  more 
skilful  than  the  young  men,  and  also  because  they  are 
physically  unfitted  to  engage  in  the  more  arduous  labors  of 
hunting  and  fishing. 

On  returning  from  a  short  hunting  tour  on  a  sultry  day  in 
June,  I  came  from  a  dense  thicket  into  a  small  opening,  and 
took  the  little,  withered  old  Indian  artisan  completely  by 
surprise.  His  shipyard  contained,  perhaps,  two  or  three 
square  rods  of  pretty  level  ground  overgrown  with  moss.  He 
was  sitting  astride  of  a  cedar  log,  which  was  supported  by 
two  skids  ten  or  twelve  feet  apart.  The  log,  or  canoe  that 
was  to  be,  was  about  fifteen  feet  long,  and  two  and  a  half  feet 
in  diameter. 

The  partially  fashioned  craft  was  bottom  up,  and  the 
builder  was  chipping  off  the  sides  with  a  buckhorn  adze. 
This  primitive  tool  consisted  of  a  curved  piece  of  buckhorn, 
lashed  by  rawhide  thongs  to  a  wooden  handle  eighteen  inches 


INDIAN    CANOE-BUILDING.  13 

long.  The  cutting  edge  of  the  adze  was  smooth  and  well- 
polished  from  use.  It  sank  readily  at  each  blow  into  the  soft, 
corky  wood.  At  intervals,  in  order  to  dislodge  a  tough  chip 
or  knot,  the  little  carpenter  used  a  buckhorn  chisel  and  stone 
mallet. 

The  older  Indians  have  a  great  reverence  for  the  primitive 
implements  of  their  fathers,  and  they  work  for  days  together 
with  them,  when  the  same  amount  of  labor  could  be  done  in 
a  few  hours  with  modern  edge  tools,  purchasable  at  the  settle- 
ment for  a  small  sum.  In  contemplating  this  curious  scene, 
I  was  brought  face  to  face  with  the  stone  and  bone  age  of 
prehistoric  times. 

At  first  the  old  Indian  did  not  seem  disposed  to  be  sociable, 
but  I  did  not  take  offence,  for  I  knew  that  few  of  the  older 
men  and  women  of  his  tribe  are  able  to  speak  English.  But 
no  sooner  did  I  fill  his  shrivelled  hands  with  sandwiches  from 
my  capacious  haversack,  and  address  him  in  Chinook,  than 
every  wrinkle  on  his  leathery  face  was  a  smile,  and  he  readily 
answered  all  my  questions. 

From  his  quite  lucid  account,  it  seems  that  when  the  red 
man  wants  to  make  a  canoe  he  fells  a  cedar-tree,  or  finds  a 
prostrate  trunk  of  the  requisite  dimensions.  He  then  cuts  out 
a  section  of  the  desired  length,  peels  off  the  bark  and  hollows 
out  the  log,  leaving  a  smooth  surface  upon  the  sides  and 
bottom  from  end  to  end. 

The  log  is  next  turned  over,  and  the  outside  fashioned  into 
the  exquisite  model  so  much  admired  by  all  those  who  have 
seen  these  beautiful  specimens  of  Indian  naval  architecture. 

The  log  is  hollowed  by  burning  and  chopping.  After  the 
fire  has  been  started  on  the  top  of  the  log,  it  is  so  carefully 
watched  and  skilfully  directed  that  when  the  burning  is 
finished,  the  big  piece  of  timber  is  neatly  hollowed  with 
marvellous  symmetry  of  form  from  bow  to  stern ;  and  the 
whole  concavity  is  left  so  evenly  charred  that  when  the  surface 
is  worked  down  to  the  sound  timber  by  means  of  the  buckhorn 
adze,  little  further  alteration  is  necessary. 


14  INDIAN    CANOE-BUII/DING. 

When  the  log  is  turned  over,  with  the  hollow  side  down,  a 
slow  fire  is  again  brought  into  requisition  for  shaping  the 
exterior,  and  again  the  surface  is  neatly  worked  down  till  the 
sound  timber  appears.  Of  course  the  buckhorn  implements 
cut  pretty  easily  through  the  charred  wood. 

Since  the  settlement  of  the  country  by  whites,  the  Indians 
have  felled  trees  for  their  canoes  with  axes ;  but  previous  to 
that  time  all  this  was  done  by  burning  and  by  stone  imple- 
ments, the  fire  being  so  directed  as  not  to  injure  the  portion 
from  which  the  canoe  was  made.  Hence,  I  may  say  that  I 


An   Indian   Canoe. 


have  seen  many  beautiful  canoes,  some  capable  of  carrying  a 
dozen  persons,  made  from  a  standing  tree,  without  being 
touched  by  a  tool  of  steel  or  any  other  metal. 

The  inside  and  outside  having  been  finished,  the  next 
thing  to  be  done  is  the  "  stretching,"  without  which  the  crude 
dugout  would  be  wholly  unseaworthy.  To  do  this,  the  canoe 
is  set  level  on  a  firm  skid  foundation  and  filled  with  water. 
A  fire  is  then  kindled  and  stones,  heated  red-hot,  are  thrown 
into  the  canoe  till  .the  water  boils. 

By  taking  out  and  reheating  the  stones  the  water  is  kept 
boiling  till  the  walls  of  the  canoe,  which  are  not  more  than  an 


INDIAN    CANOE-BUILDING.  15 

inch  thick,  become  as  pliable  as  sole  leather,  and  capable  of 
being  stretched  a  foot  or  more  beyond  their  normal  width. 

Nicely  fitting  sticks  are  now  put  in  transversely  along  the 
gunwale,  increasing  in  length  from  the  ends  to  the  middle. 
By  means  of  these  stretchers,  a  cedar  log  two  feet  and  a  half 
in  diameter  will  make  a  canoe  of  three  or  four  feet  beam  ;  the 
width  of  the  canoes  varying,  of  course,  according  to  length. 
When  the  sides  have  been  brought  to  the  required  curvature, 
the  water  is  emptied  out  and  the  elegant  shell  suffered  to  dry 
thoroughly  but  without  cracking. 

By  way  of  finishing  touches,  the  canoe  is  smeared  inside 
and  out  with  fish-oil,  and  then  painted  in  bright  colors. 

It  may  not  be  generally  known  that  the  fine  curves  which 
distinguished  the  bows  and  sterns  of  the  original  speedy 
Baltimore  clipper  ships  were  suggested  by  the  models  of  these 
Indian  canoes.  Such  is  the  fact,  however,  and  in  later  years 
the  builders  of  ocean  steamships  have  copied  the  same  ex- 
quisite lines. 

One  of  the  characteristics  of  these  canoes  is  that  their 
motion  causes  very  little  disturbance  of  the  water,  whether 
light  or  heavily  laden,  and  whether  slowly  or  swiftly  propelled. 
Thus  their  shape  is  consummate  art  in  shipbuilding.  How 
did  rude,  untutored  Indians  discover  it?  Of  course  not  all  at 
once. 

For  unknown  ages  these  people  were  constructing  canoes 
with  slow  increments  of  improvement  from  one  generation 
to  another  until  at  last  they  worked  up  to  a  model  which 
proved  fast  and  yet  best  suited  to  their  needs.  As  none  of 
them  could  improve  the  model  they  adhere  to  it,  and  all  their 

canoes  are  of  that  pattern. 

L.  NEVEN. 


At  a  Salmon  Pool. 

We  had  stopped  at  a  cannery  near  the  head  of  Tongas 
Narrows,  to  take  on  board  two  thousand  boxes  of  salmon, 
and  so  had  an  opportunity  to  land  and  see  the  place  where 
the  fish  are  taken.  A  walk  of  half  a  mile  through  the  ever- 
green forest  brought  us  to  the  little  river  near  the  foot  of  a 
cascade  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  in  height. 

The  stream  foams  down  over  rugged  ledges  of  pale  gray 
slate,  overhung  by  enormous  firs,  while  fallen  tree-trunks 
cross  and  half-blockade  it.  At  the  foot  of  the  rocks  is  a  series 
of  three  or  four  picturesque  pools  of  eddying  water,  about 
thirty  feet  in  breadth  and  six  or  eight  feet  in  depth. 

The  pools  were  full  of  restless,  circling  salmon,  all  pressing 
up  to  the  foot  of  the  falls.  The  foremost  ones,  bent  crescent 
shape,  were  constantly  leaping  upward,  some  gaining  the 
water  above  at  the  first  spring,  some  falling  back  into  the 
throng  beneath  to  repeat  their  effort. 

From  the  bay  below  thousands  were  pressing  up  into  the 
pools,  impelled  by  the  instinct  -which  leads  every  salmon 
to  return,  after  its  ocean  wanderings,  to  deposit  its  spawn  in 
the  river  in  which  it  was  hatched. 

Such  was  the  pressure  of  the  throng  in  the  pools  that  the 
top  of  the  mass  of  fish  was  at  intervals  lifted  nearly  out  of  the 
water,  so  as  to  suggest  the  idea  that  one  might  run  across  the 
pool  on  their  finny  backs.  Yet  all  were  in  constant  motion. 
Through  the  limpid  water  their  dark  purple  backs  reflected 
the  richest  of  tints,  with  here  and  there  the  white  gleam  of  a 
fish  capsized  in  the  press. 

No  one  could  witness  such  a  scene  without  becoming 
intensely  interested  in  it.  One  watched  the  frantic  leaping  of 
the  beautiful  fish  with  the  same  kind  of  feeling  which  he  has 
in  watching  a  boat-race  —  as  if  he  were  trying  to  help  the 
contestants  by  mental  encouragement  and  muscular  repression. 


1 8  AT   A   SALMON    POOI,. 

The  more  excitable  spirits  among  us,  men  as  well  as  women, 
shouted  and  screamed  like  school  children.  Crouching  and 
bending  over  the  rocky  verge  of  the  pools,  they  clapped 
their  hands  when  one  of  the  fish  succeeded  in  making  a  good 
leap. 

It  was  a  scene  to  carry  long  in  one's  memory  :  the  white, 
dashing  waters,  the  huge,  dark-green  overhang  of  the  firs, 
the  wild  thronging  of  the  salmon  in  the  clear,  cold  pools,  the 
dead  and  dying  fish,  floating  helplessly  out  in  the  eddies. 
Flapping  ravens  croaked  overhead  and  bronzed  dragon-flies 
whirred  above  the  water's  surface. 

To  all  this  spectacle  of  animated  nature,  annually  repeated 
here  through  thousands  of  years,  add  the  unusual  element  of 
a  hundred  tourists  from  the  steamer  rushing  about  the  pools  in 
the  wildest  excitement,  hallooing,  screaming,  hastily  rigging 
out  rods,  hooks  and  spears,  and  even  cruelly  firing  into  the 
poor  fish  with  pocket-revolvers,  and  the  reader  may  be  able 
to  picture  to  himself  the  scene  presented  on  this  August 
afternoon. 

The  business  of  canning  salmon  is  now  rapidly  pushing  its 
way  northward  from  the  Columbia.  At  present  there  are 
about  a  score  of  canneries  in  southern  Alaska.  They  are 
generally  situated  in  some  deep  bay,  or  arm  of  the  sea, 
surrounded  by  dark  green  mountains,  or  gray  cliffs,  capped 
with  mist,  and  near  the  mouth  of  some  river,  or  large  brook. 
All  these  streams  are  the  old-time  haunts  of  the  salmon,  and 
here  they  are  easily  captured  in  nets  and  weirs. 

The  canneries  are  rudely  constructed,  but  commodious 
sheds,  beneath  which  is  placed  all  the  apparatus  for  dressing, 
packing  and  testing.  This  includes  steam-power  machines 
for  filling  the  cans,  ovens  for  heating,  a  shop  for  making  the 
cans  from  sheet  tin,  and  a  carpenter's  shop. 

At  the  very  picturesquely  located  cannery  which  we  visited 
we  found  two  or  three  Americans  in  charge  of  the  property. 
About  twenty  Chinese  were  doing  all  the  work,  including 
tinsmithing,  and  testing  the  filled  cans  by  heat,  prior  to 


AT   A   SALMON   POOL.  19 

sealing  them.  Indians  are  also  employed,  mainly  to  catch 
the  fish  and  for  chore- work.  At  some  of  the  canneries  the 
Indians  are  paid  a  stated  price  for  catching,  one  cent  a  pound, 
or  ten  cents  for  each  salmon  caught.  The  salmon  of  these 
small  rivers  usually  range,  during  the  summer  months,  from 
four  to  ten  pounds  in  weight.  Almost  every  cannery  either 
owns  or  hires  a  small  tugboat,  for  a  tender,  to  bring  in  the 
fish  caught  at  different  points. 

After  the  cans  are  filled  with  fish,  they  are  put  in  ovens 


Salmon-Packing. 

and  raised  to  a  temperature  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  degrees 
Fahrenheit,  then  tapped  to  let  out  the  steam,  and  afterward 
soldered  air-tight. 

Five  varieties  of  salmon  ascend  the  rivers  of  Alaska,  the 
largest  of  which  not  unfrequently  attains  a  length  of  six  feet 
and  a  weight  of  one  hundred  pounds.  This  giant  is  occasion- 
ally caught  in  the  Columbia  River,  but  its  favorite  haunts  are 
the  Yukon  River  and  the  rapid  streams  flowing  into  Cook's 
Inlet  to  the  west  of  Mount  St.  EHas,  where  the  Indians  take 
it  in  great  numbers. 


20  AT    A    SALMON    POOL. 

The  most  northerly  river  of  the  globe  which  salmon  are 
known  to  ascend  is  the  Colville,  in  northern  Alaska,  which 
flows  into  the  Arctic  Ocean,  in  latitude  71°  north.  Kotzebue 
Sound,  with  the  five  or  six  rivers  flowing  into  it,  is  the 
most  northern  place  where  salmon  are  taken  in  considerable 
numbers.  Only  one  variety,  the  little  hump-backed  salmon, 
reaches  this  latitude. 

Alaska  is  a  true  home  of  the  salmon,  and  will  undoubtedly 
be  one  of  the  great  fishing-grounds  of  the  world.  Were  these 
fisheries  judiciously  managed,  no  decrease  in  the  enormous 
numbers  of  fish  need  be  apprehended. 

More  fish  now  attempt  to  ascend  the  rivers  during  the 
spawning  season  than  their  waters  will  contain.  In  the 
tumultuous  rush  to  reach  the  spawning  beds,  far  up  the 
rivers,  countless  thousands  of  salmon  are  pushed  on  shore, 
or  left  stranded  in  pools  and  small  ponds,  as  the  water  lowers 
during  the  summer  months. 

Nature  seems  to  have  no  pity  for  them.  In  heaps  and 
rows,  or  scattered,  one  by  one,  they  lie  rotting  along  the 
river  and  creek  banks,  the  shallows  and  gravel  bars.  This 
destruction  is  nature's  method  of  repressing  the  too  rapid 
multiplication  of  the  fish.  The  few  thousand  Indians  who 
inhabit  these  wild  regions,  and  who  largely  subsist  on  salmon, 
occasion  no  perceptible  reduction  in  their  numbers. 

L,ike  the  spring  tides  recurs  every  season  the  impetuous 
rush  of  eager,  reckless,  struggling  fish,  surging  far  up  every 
bay,  river  and  brook,  from  Cape  Mendocino  to  Cape  Lisburne. 
To  utilize  this  excess,  to  save  this  waste  of  good  fish  and 
distribute  it  as  food  to  all  quarters  of  the  earth,  is  the  business 
which  the  Alaska  salmon  canneries  have  undertaken.  It  is 
an  enterprise  well  deserving  of  success. 

C.  A.  STEPHENS. 


The   Loneliest   Place   in   the 
United   States. 

My  party  of  five  white  men  and  some  Yakutat  Indians  had 
landed,  through  the  heavy  surf  of  the  great  Pacific  Ocean,  in 
an  open  bight  called  Icy  Bay  on  the  Alaskan  coast  just  off  the 
snow-clad  peak  of  Mount  St.  Elias,  the  highest  mountain  in 
North  America.  Here  we  left  one  man  to  look  after  our  many 
supplies,  for  numerous  bear  tracks,  most  of  them  of  the  huge 
grizzly,  showed  us  that  we  could  not  safely  leave  the  supplies 
unguarded. 

Then  we  started  toward  the  great  mountain.  It  was  our 
main  object  to  make  explorations  in  the  range  of  which  St. 
Elias  is  the  culminating  peak,  where  it  was  known  that  no 
white  men  had  ever  been  before,  and  where  all  observations 
of  the  range  had  been  from  ships  coasting  by. 

For  some  eight  to  ten  miles  the  land  was  very  flat,  but  for 
the  most  part  covered  with  a  dense  growth  of  spruce  and  firs, 
and  cut  up  by  many  small  streams  of  the  coldest  ice-water 
from  the  great  mountain's  side  and  its  glaciers. 

This  course  brought  us  to  a  high  ridge,  some  four  hundred 
to  five  hundred  feet  from  foot  to  crest,  that  looked  not  unlike 
the  parapet  of  a  fortification  for  giants,  and  much  like  the 
unbroken  front  of  a  rolling  bluff  facing  the  valley  of  a  river. 
It  was  covered  with  earth,  stones,  and  a  growth  of  underbrush 
that  made  the  casual  observer  suppose  he  was  looking  at  an 
ordinary  ridge  of  land. 

But  here  and  there  a  shining  space  of  black,  like  a  huge 
facet  of  polished  jet  or  black  glass,  coupled  with  the  prox- 
imity to  the  huge  mountain  covered  with  ice,  plainly  told  the 
experienced  observer  that  he  was  facing  the  front  of  a  colossal 
glacier,  or  river  of  ice,  and  this  rubbish  was  only  the  dirt, 
stones  and  soil  it  was  shoving  before  it  as  it  crept  slowly 
toward  the  sea,  or  sought  a  lower  level. 


22 


THE   IvONElylEST   PIPAGE   IN   THE   UNITED   STATES. 


Once  at  the  top  of  this  ridge  or  crest  that  looked  so  much 
like  an  ordinary  rocky  ridge  in  the  country,  its  true  character 
is  more  plainly  revealed,  and  one  can  easily  see  great  banks 
of  black  ice  where,  from  the  front,  only  small  patches  peeped 
through,  here  and  there.  But  we  had  to  walk  some  six  or 
seven  miles  before  we  really  saw  such  ice  as  we  are  accustomed 
to  see  in  our  own  latitude  ;  and  even  then  it  was  always  of  a 
bluish  or  blackish  tinge. 

The   first   day's   travel   of   eight  to   ten  miles  across  the 


Mount  St.   Elias. 

glacier,  which  I  named  the  Agassiz  Glacier,  brought  us  in 
sight  of  a  small  island  in  this  sea  of  ice,  which  we  could 
plainly  see  was  well  wooded  and  beautifully  grassed  in  rolling 
slopes,  a  most  welcome  relief  from  the  long,  dreary  stretches 
of  dirty  ice  in  every  other  direction. 

But  a  river  and  lake  were  between  us  and  the  beautiful 
island,  and  although  the  river  was  not  hard  to  cross,  so  far  as 


THE   LONELIEST   PLACE   IN   THE   UNITED   STATES.          23 

any  difficulties  the  stream  itself  presented  were  concerned,  yet 
here  the  glacier  showed  perpendicular  walls  of  ice  so  high  that 
nothing  less  than  a  bird  could  have  descended  with  safety. 

Next  day  we  reached  the  island  after  much  difficulty,  and 
encamped  there  two  days.  Thus  far,  as  my  Indians  told  me, 
one  or  two  of  the  most  daring  hunters  of  their  tribe  had  come, 
looking  for  mountain  goats,  the  tracks  of  which  we  saw,  but 
beyond  it  none  of  them  had  ever  penetrated.  They  believed 
there  was  solid  ice  to  the  very  top  of  the  huge  peak  of  Mount 
St.  Elias,  toward  which  we  were  then  travelling,  except  where, 
in  a  few  places,  we  could  see  great  walls  of  perpendicular  rock 
breaking  through  the  covering  of  white  snow  and  blue  ice. 

We  advanced  toward  the  base  of  Mount  St.  Elias,  not 
expecting  to  see  anything  but  ice  and  snow,  or  the  worse  bare 
rock,  on  which  we  were  to  sleep  and  camp  until  we  returned 
to  this  island.  This  day's  march  covered  ten  or  twelve  miles 
to  the  northward  over  two  distinct  glaciers.  To  one  of  these 
I  gave  the  name  of  Guyot,  and  to  the  other  I  gave  the  name 
of  Tyndall. 

Before  the  day's  journey  was  over,  however,  we  were 
surprised  to  see  what  appeared  to  be  a  great  green  spot  just 
at  the  base  of  the  mountain,  which  turned  out  to  be  another 
island  of  emerald  hue  in  the  white  sea  of  ice.  It  was  probably 
half  a  square  mile  to  a  square  mile  in  extent,  and  well  enough 
covered  with  grass  to  make  a  delightful  camping  ground, 
while  brush  was  to  be  had  anywhere  with  which  to  make 
a  fine  camp-fire,  such  as  we  soon  had  blazing  before  us. 
Beautiful  rills  and  rivulets  flowed  through  the  greensward  on 
which  we  spread  our  blankets  ;  and  to  us,  in  our  tired  condi- 
tion, it  seemed  as  soft  as  any  bed  prepared  by  human  hands. 

Our  Indians  renewed  their  statements  that  this  spot  was 
unknown  to  any  of  their  tribe  and  had  no  place  in  the 
traditions  of  their  race ;  and  this  had  been  their  country 
always,  as  they  firmly  believed. 

In  all  my  wanderings  over  the  West  or  in  Alaska  I  could 
never  say,  however  desolate  the  place  might  be  at  the  time  of 


24          THE   LONELIEST   PLACE   IN   THE   UNITED   STATES. 

my  visit,  that  savage  footsteps  might  not  have  been  there 
before  mine,  until  I  stood  on  this  little  green  island  at  the 
very  base  of  solemn  St.  Klias,  towering  above  us  into  the  very 
skies. 

There  were  a  few  tracks  of  the  mountain  goat,  but  none  of 
these  animals  were  seen  while  we  were  here.  A  huge  grizzly 
was  seen  by  a  member  of  the  party,  but  as  our  most  formidable 
weapon  was  a  penknife,  we  rather  avoided  than  solicited  a 
battle  with  him. 

But  the  queerest  life  was  seen  in  the  ptarmigans,  or  Arctic 
grouse,  which  we  encountered  at  different  points.  They 
had  little  chicks,  about  three  to  four  weeks  old,  which  had 
not  yet  got  their  wing  feathers  sufficiently  developed  to  fly 
well,  and  of  course  had  to  escape  by  hiding  in  the  grass  and 
brush. 

They  were  tame,  both  young  and  old,  for  they  had  never 
seen  a  human  being  before.  The  little  ones  made  so  few 
efforts  to  get  away  that  we  could  pick  up  some  of  them  with 
our  hands,  while  the  old  ones  pecked  at  our  feet  and  flew 
angrily  against  us  to  drive  us  away.  One  of  my  men  killed 
two  or  three  with  a  stick.  I  bade  him  stop,  as  we  had  enough 
for  a  meal,  and  it  was  a  very  tough  meal  at  that. 

Green  as  the  plants  and  grasses  seemed  to  be,  probably 
they  would  not  have  appeared  so  bright  but  for  the  contrast 
with  the  desert  of  ice.  They  must  have  been  very  hardy 
indeed,  for  I  hardly  think  a  week  passes  here  without  a  severe 
frost,  even  in  the  warmest  part  of  the  summer. 

The  first  night  we  spent  here,  July  25th,  it  froze  so  hard 
that  when  a  pint  tin  cup  three-fourths  full  of  water  was 
inverted,  the  ice  on  the  surface  held  the  contents  firmly  in  the 
cup.  The  second  night  was  not  many  degrees  warmer.  On 
both  nights  the  earth  was  covered  with  a  heavy  hoar  frost, 
seemingly  severe  enough  to  kill  every  known  plant. 

Lonely  as  this  spot  was,  it  was  not  without  sounds  to  greet 
the  ears  of  its  few  inhabitants  ;  the  rush  of  mighty  avalanches 
down  the  sides  of  St.  Klias.  What  thunders  they  created ! 


THE   I,ONEUEST   PI<ACE   IN   THE   UNITED   STATES.          25 

To  represent  them,  take  the  greatest  snow-slide  of  the  Alps 
and  multiply  it  by  one  hundred,  and  you  will  be  under  the 
truth.  I  have  been  in  earthquakes,  but  I  have  never  felt  the 
ground  tremble  as  it  did  on  this  little  island  when  St.  Elias 
sent  a  few  square  townships  of  ice  and  snow  down  its  mighty 
sides.  It  felt  as  if  the  very  earth  were  ripping  open. 

Mount  St.  Elias  is  the  highest  mountain  in  the  world  above 
the  snow-line,  which  here  hugs  its  very  base,  and  of  course 
there  is  no  lack  of  material,  nor  lack  of  height  to  throw  it, 
when  it  seems  to  wish  to  give  an  avalanche  exhibition.  When 
one  of  these  snow-slides  started  from  near  the  top,  gathering 
force  and  material  in  its  three  or  four  miles  of  descent,  it 
generally  arrived  at  the  base  in  a  way  that  would  fairly  appall 
the  stoutest  heart,  and  make  one  imagine  that  the  planets  were 
bumping  together  in  their  orbits. 

This,  then,  is  the  music,  and  such  are  the  conditions  under 
which  live  the  few  beasts  and  birds  that  exist  at  all  in  the 
loneliest  place  in  the  United  States. 

FREDERICK  SCHWATKA. 


Alaska   Eskimo   Houses. 

It  was  on  a  dismal,  drizzling,  windy  afternoon  in  September, 
when  the  rain  froze  as  it  fell  and  covered  the  rigging  with  a 
glare  of  ice,  that  we  had  our  first  sight  of  the  Eskimo  village 
at  Cape  Smyth,  far  up  in  the  northwestern  corner  of  Alaska. 
We  were  beating  up  the  coast  on  our  way  to  establish  a 
station  for  observing  the  weather  as  near  as  possible  to  Point 
Barrow,  the  extreme  northwestern  point  of  the  continent. 

Perched  on  the  top  of  the  high  gravel  bank  we  saw  a 
straggling  line  of  rude,  square  stages  mounted  on  poles  ten  or 
twelve  feet  high,  planted  among  little  irregular  hillocks, 
interspersed  with  conical  tents  of  white  sailcloth  ;  but  we  soon 
found  out  that  what  we  took  for  natural  hillocks  were  the 
people's  winter  houses. 

The  villagers  were  not  yet  living  in  these  habitations,  for 
the  underground  passages  were  still  full  of  the  water  which 
had  run  in  during  the  open  season.  About  a  month  later, 
when  all  the  people  of  the  village  had  come  back  from  their 
summer  wanderings,  they  came  to  borrow  our  pickaxes  to 
clear  out  the  ice  from  their  houses,  in  order  to  get  them  ready 
for  winter  occupation. 

These  Bskimos  of  northwestern  Alaska  are  more  fortunate 
than  their  better-known  cousins  of  Greenland  and  the  regions 
north  of  Hudson  Bay.  Although  the  country  they  inhabit  is 
entirely  treeless,  they  find  scattered  along  the  beach  plenty  of 
driftwood,  with  which  they  build  very  comfortable  wooden 
houses  for  the  winter. 

These  houses  are  covered  with  a  thick  layer  of  turf,  which 
serves  to  keep  out  the  cold,  but  which  also  entirely  hides  the 
wooden  building,  and  makes  it  look  like  a  little  rounded 
hillock.  A  lower  mound,  connected  with  the  main  building 
by  a  low  ridge  about  thirty  feet  long,  contains  the  door.  To 


ALASKA  ESKIMO  HOUSES.  27 

enter  the  house  you  climb  this  little  connected  mound,  in  the 
top  of  which  you  find  a  hatchway,  about  a  yard  square, 
leading  down  by  two  or  three  clumsy  steps  into  a  long,  dark 
passage,  always  icy  on  the  floor,  and  just  low  enough  to  make 
you  stoop  to  avoid  striking  your  head. 

As  you  grope  your  way  along  this  passage,  you  see  indis- 
tinctly that  the  walls  are  supported  by  props  of  whales'  ribs, 
between  which  the  frozen  ground  is  hollowed  out  into  little 
cupboards  and  store-rooms. 

At  the  end  of  this  passage  a  small,  round  trap-door  admits 
you  into  the  house.  Standing  in  the  trap-door,  your  head  and 
shoulders  are  in  the  one  room.  There  are  no  steps,  and  you 
must  scramble  up  the  best  way  you  can.  In  the  house  at  last 
you  find  yourself  in  a  room  nearly  square,  about  ten  feet  by 
twelve,  and  about  seven  feet  high  under  the  ridge-pole.  The 
two  slopes  of  the  roof  are  unequal,  the  longer  running  up  from 
the  side  where  the  passage  enters,  and  the  house  is  shorter 
from  gable  to  gable  than  it  is  the  other  way. 

Under  the  shorter  slope  of  the  roof  is  the  bed-place,  or 
bench,  stretching  across  the  whole  side  of  the  room  opposite 
the  passage.  This  is  about  two  feet  and  a  half  high  in  front, 
and  slopes  a  little  toward  the  wall.  Here  the  men  sit  in  the 
daytime,  and  at  night  the  whole  family  range  themselves  upon 
it,  side  by  side,  under  their  deerskin  blankets,  with  their  feet 
to  the  wall. 

The  whole  structure  is  made  of  thick  planks  of  driftwood, 
neatly  dressed  out  with  the  adze.  The  planks  which  form  the 
walls  are  driven  vertically  into  the  ground,  like  the  timbers 
of  a  stockade,  and  set  closely  together,  edge  to  edge.  The 
planks  of  the  roof  run  up  and  down,  from  the  stout  ridge-pole 
to  the  low  eaves. 

Just  above  the  trap-door  is  a  space  about  two  feet  wide 
where  short  transverse  planks  take  the  place  of  the  long  ones, 
leaving  a  square  opening  for  a  window  nearly  in  the  middle  of 
the  roof.  This  window,  and  consequently  the  entrance  of  the 
house,  always  faces  south  in  order  that  the  most  may  be  made 


28 


ALASKA  ESKIMO  HOUSES. 


of  the  daylight,  which  for  seventy  days  in  the  winter  is  only  a 
faint  sunset  glow  in  the  southern  sky. 

The  window  has  no  glass,  but  the  Eskimos  have  in  the 
translucent  entrails  of  the  seal  a  substitute  for  this  which 
admits  plenty  of  light,  though  nothing  can  be  seen  through  it. 

To  light  the  room  during  the  dark  season,  and  at  the  same 
time  warm  it  sufficiently  to  make  an  Eskimo  comfortable, 
there  stand  on  the  floor,  one  at  each  end  of  the  sleeping  bench, 


Eskimo   Houses. 


a  pair  of  soapstone  lamps  of  the  sort  which  furnish  light  and 
heat  in  every  Eskimo  household,  east  and  west.  These  are 
shallow  dishes,  neatly  carved  out  of  solid  blocks  of  soft  soap- 
stone,  somewhat  like  a  half -moon  in  outline,  and  eighteen 
inches  or  two  feet  long.  Along  the  front  edge  is  arranged  a 
wick  made  of  fibres  of  moss,  and  the  bowl  is  filled  with  seal  or 
whale  oil. 


ALASKA  ESKIMO  HOUSES.  29 

These  lamps  burn  with  a  bright  flame  and  very  little 
smoke,  and  when  the  whole  wick  is  lighted  the  flame  often 
leaps  a  foot  into  the  air.  The  lamps  are  the  special  charge  of 
the  women,  who  tend  them  carefully,  trimming  the  wicks 
with  little  sticks,  and  keeping  plenty  of  oil  in  the  vessel.  To 
feed  the  lamp,  there  is  often  a  lump  of  solid  blubber,  as  large 
as  one's  fist,  held  on  a  sharp  stick  projecting  from  the  wall 
about  a  foot  above  the  lamp.  As  the  heat  melts  the  blubber 
the  oil  drips  into  the  vessel,  and  keeps  it  full. 

As  two  families  usually  occupy  one  of  these  houses,  each 
wife  has  her  own  lamp.  Over  the  right-hand  lamp  hangs  a 
wooden  rack,  shaped  like  a  miniature  ladder,  upon  which 
boots,  mittens,  and  other  articles  are  hung  to  dry.  There  is*a 
similar  rack  over  the  left-hand  lamp,  and  farther  away  from 
the.  bed,  on  the  same  side,  a  third  rack,  on  which  always 
stands  a  great  cake  of  clean  snow,  dripping  down  into  a 
wooden  tub  standing  on  the  floor  beneath.  This  is  the  family 
drinking-water. 

This  is  all  the  furniture  of  the  house.  The  household 
utensils  consist  of  a  few  kettles,  eight  or  ten  tubs  and  buckets 
of  various  sizes,  a  few  small  drinking-cups  made  of  whalebone, 
some  wooden  and  horn  or  bone  spoons  and  ladles,  and  several 
large  trays  and  dishes  carved  out  of  blocks  of  soft  wood. 

With  these  simple  appliances,  the  Eskimos  live  very  com- 
fortably. The  lamps  give  sufficient  light,  and  when  both  are 
burning  well  the  temperature  rises  frequently  to  fifty  or  sixty 
degrees  Fahrenheit,  so  that  the  Eskimos  may  sit,  as  they  like 
to,  naked  to  the  waist. 

Most  of  the  cooking  is  done  over  a  fire  of  driftwood  in  a 
little  dark  room  with  a  smoke-hole  in  the  roof,  leading  out 
from  the  left-hand  side  of  the  passage  close  to  the  door.  The 
cleanliness  of  most  of  these  houses  is  quite  remarkable  when 
the  scarcity  of  water,  even  for  drinking  purposes,  is  taken  into 
account.  The  floors  are  brushed  and  dry-rubbed  with  the 
greatest  care,  and  the  men  are  exceedingly  nice  about  wiping 
their  shoes  and  brushing  frost  and  snow  from  their  clothes 
before  they  enter  the  house. 


30  ALASKA  ESKIMO  HOUSES. 

At  the  back  of  the  house  stands  an  open  staging,  supported 
on  poles  of  driftwood,  upon  which  are  kept  the  Eskimo's 
various  utensils,  and  articles  which  it  is  desirable  to  keep  out 
of  the  reach  of  hungry  dogs. 

A  house  like  this  is  only  fit  to  live  in  during  cold  weather, 
for  as  soon  as  there  is  a  thaw  the  surface  water  runs  down  into 
the  passage  and  fills  it  up.  As  soon  as  warmer  weather  comes, 
therefore,  the  household  moves  out,  and  each  family  sets  up 
its  own  tent,  first  on  the  high  ground  near  the  village,  and 
later  in  little  encampments  scattered  along  the  shore,  at  spots 
where  birds  and  seals  are  plenty. 

Formerly  the  tent  was  always  covered  with  sealskins  sewed 
together  with  the  hair  outside.  But  nowadays  there  have 
been  so  many  wrecks,  and  the  ships  have  brought  so  much 
cloth  for  trade,  that  all  the  tents  are  covered  with  sailcloth  or 
drilling.  Drilling  is  preferred,  as  its  lightness  makes  the  tent 
much  more  easy  to  carry  about.  In  winter,  when  the  Eskimos 
go  to  the  interior  after  game,  they  build  snow-houses,  but 
these  are  not  the  elegant  and  ingenious  dome-shaped  houses 
of  snow  which  we  usually  associate  with  the  Eskimos. 

The  most  curious  thing  about  them  is  the  fireplace  of  snow, 
which  is  built  out  from  the  right-hand  side  of  the  entrance 
passage.  It  is  simply  a  recess  built  of  slabs  of  hard  snow, 
open  at  the  top,  with  a  stick  running  across  from  side  to  side 
upon  which  to  hang  kettles.  When  we  remember  that  at  the 
season  of  the  year  when  these  fireplaces  are  used,  the 
thermometer  seldom  gets  as  high  as  zero,  and  is  of tener  thirty, 
forty,  or  even  fifty  degrees  below,  we  easily  see  that  a  moderate 
fire  in  a  new  snow  fireplace  would  do  little  more  than  melt  it 
on  the  surface. 

In  such  dwellings  as  I  have  described,  adapted  to  the 
different  seasons  of  the  year,  the  people  of  this  far-off  country 
manage  to  lead  a  comfortable  and  really  a  happy  life. 

JOHN  MURDOCH. 


Reindeer  for  Alaska. 

A  very  interesting  experiment  for  the  propagation  of 
reindeer  in  Alaska  was  begun  a  few  years  ago  near  Port 
Clarence,  and  now  is  in  progress  at  several  stations.  From 
its  beginning  the  enterprise,  which  is  under  the  direction  of 
Dr.  Sheldon  Jackson,  Government  Agent  of  Education  for 
Alaska,  has  been  a  strictly  benevolent  one,  largely  supported 
by  private  contributions.  Although  the  general  government 
was  asked  for  a  comparatively  small  sum  to  begin  the  experi- 
ment, Congress  was  slow  in  making  the  needful  appropriation. 

The  experiment  aims  to  alleviate  the  hard  lot  of  the  Eskimo 
inhabitants  of  Alaska,  who  are,  by  the  census  estimate,  not 
far  from  fifteen  thousand  in  number.  When  the  territory 
came  into  possession  of  the  United  States  in  the  year  1867,  by 
purchase  from  Russia,  the  native  population  was  much  greater. 
It  is  still  diminishing  steadily. 

Three  causes  have  led  to  the  decrease  :  First,  the  slaughter 
of  walrus,  seals  and  whales  on  which  the  Eskimos  subsist,  by 
American  and  other  whalemen  ;  second,  the  extermination  of 
the  caribou  by  white  hunters ;  third,  the  sale  of  intoxicants 
by  traders.  In  short,  the  disheartening  fact  would  seem  to  be 
that  American  occupancy,  far  from  proving  advantageous  to 
the  natives,  has  submitted  them  to  so  injurious  a  contact 
with  our  civilization  that  their  ultimate  extermination  seems 
probable. 

In  marked  contrast  with  the  destitution  and  suffering  of 
the  Alaskan  Eskimos  is  the  condition  of  the  similar  tribes  who 
inhabit  the  country  on  the  other  side  of  Bering's  Straits  in 
Siberia.  These  people  no  longer  subsist  on  blubber  and  seal 
flesh,  but  like  the  Lapps,  have  large  herds  of  reindeer  from 
which  they  obtain  their  living  almost  wholly.  For  them  the 
reindeer  is  food,  clothing,  house,  furniture,  implements  and 
transportation. 


32  RKINDEER  FOR  ALASKA. 

Its  milk  and  flesh  are  their  ordinary  diet.  Its  marrow, 
tongue  and  hams  are  cured  and  stored  for  winter  use,  and 
sometimes  exported.  Its  intestines  are  stuffed  as  sausages. 
Its  skin  is  tanned  and  made  into  garments,  bedding,  tents, 
harness,  thongs  and  snow-shoes.  Its  sinews  afford  cords  and 
thread.  Its  bones,  soaked  in  oil,  are  burned  as  fuel.  From 
its  horns  are  fashioned  household  tools,  sledge-runners  and 
weapons. 

Most  valuable  of  all  to  them  is  the  service  of  the  living 
deer,  which  when  trained  to  harness,  furnish  a  speedy  trans- 
portation. A  well-trained  deer  is  swifter  than  a  horse,  and 
has  often  been  driven  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  in  a  single 
day. 

The  moss-beds  on  the  great  northern  tundras,  or  wastes, 
afford  the  proper  food  for  these  animals,  in  winter  as  well  as 
summer ;  and  great  herds  of  them  are  bred  with  as  little  care 
and  outlay  as  are  the  herds  of  cattle  on  the  plains  of  Texas. 

From  observation  of  these  conditions  Doctor  Jackson  was 
led  to  hope  that  the  reindeer  might  be  brought  to  Alaska,  and 
the  Eskimos  encouraged  to  breed  and  keep  herds  of  them  ;  for 
the  plains  and  moss-beds  of  northern  Alaska  do  not  differ  in 
any  essential  degree  from  those  of  northern  Siberia.  Bering 
Strait  is  but  a  narrow  arm  of  the  sea  between  the  two  coun- 
tries ;  and  it  has  been  proved  that  the  reindeer  will  thrive  on 
both  shores.  The  problem  was  simply  to  procure  the  deer 
from  Siberia,  and  teach  the  Eskimos  to  breed  and  care  for 
them. 

So  earnestly  did  Doctor  Jackson  urge  the  enterprise  at 
Washington,  during  the  winter  of  1890-91,  that  the  commander 
of  the  revenue  vessel,  "Bear,"  then  cruising  in  Alaskan 
waters,  was  directed  to  cooperate  with  him  in  an  effort  to 
purchase  reindeer  from  the  Koraks,  and  transport  the  animals 
to  American  territory. 

This  proved  a  more  difficult  matter  than  would,  at  first 
thought,  be  supposed.  The  Koraks  are  a  very  primitive  and 
superstitious  people.  It  is  not  their  custom  to  part  with  their 


REINDEER    FOR   ALASKA. 


33 


deer,  and  they  have  religious  scruples  about  doing  so.  A 
great  deal  of  kindly  tact  was  required  to  bring  them  to 
entertain  the  proposition. 

Certain  ceremonies  and  rites  are  practised  among  them, 
even  before  a  deer  is  slaughtered  for  food.  The  family  of  the 
owner  seat  themselves  in  a  circle  on  the  ground,  as  the  sun  is 


Reindeer   at   the    Central    Station. 

setting.  The  deer  is  then  lassoed  and  led  forward.  The 
owner,  facing  eastward,  now  utters  a  kind  of  prayer ;  and 
when  the  animal  has  been  knifed  to  the  heart  and  has  fallen, 
he  takes  a  handful  of  the  hair  and  casting  it  to  the  east,  cries 
out,  "  L,et  there  be  plenty  of  deer  !  " 


34  REINDEER  FOR  ALASKA. 

When  finally  prevailed  upon  to  sell  deer,  the  owners 
invariably  cut  off  a  handful  of  hair  from  each  and  cast  it 
eastward,  with  a  similar  invocation. 

In  the  summer  of  1891,  sixteen  reindeer  were  purchased 
by  barter,  for  goods  worth  one  hundred  and  sixty-four  dollars  ; 
successfully  taken  on  board  the  ' '  Bear, ' '  and  brought  to 
Unalaska  Island,  in  American  waters,  where  they  wintered 
without  loss,  and  with  an  increase  of  two. 

During  the  following  summer,  1892,  one  hundred  and 
seventy-five  deer  were  purchased,  and  the  experimental 
station  at  Port  Clarence  founded.  Four  Siberian  deermen 
were  induced  to  go  to  Alaska  with  the  animals,  to  act  as 
instructors  in  the  care  of  them. 

From  the  landing  of  the  first  herd  the  reindeer  seemed 
contented  with  their  new  home,  and  relished  the  food  of  the 
Alaska  moss  on  which  they  have  continued  to  thrive.  The 
animals  were  easily  managed  through  the  winter.  Several 
were  broken  to  the  harness,  and  gave  valuable  service  in 
hauling  to  the  station  loads  of  driftwood  for  fuel. 

Encouraged  by  the  immediate  success  of  the  small  herd, 
the  government  has  imported  other  herds  till,  with  *  the 
increase  by  birth,  the  number  of  reindeer  in  Alaska  had 
become  eleven  hundred  in  the  fall  of  1896.  From  the  Central 
Station  at  Port  Clarence,  where  a  large  herd  is  kept,  four 
other  stations  received  about  two  hundred  deer  each,  which 
were  placed  in  charge  of  experienced  herdsmen. 

As  it  has  been  found  that  the  best  trained  reindeer  are  in 
Lapland,  several  families  of  Lapps  have  been  induced  to  come 
to  Alaska  to  instruct  both  Eskimos  and  whites  in  herding  and 
training  the  animals.  These  people  have  proved  far  more 
efficient  than  the  Siberians. 

Five  years'  experience  seems  to  show  that  missionaries  to 
that  region  can  accomplish  the  best  work  by  taking  charge  of 
church,  school  and  reindeer  together ;  hence,  before  many 
years  every  mission  or  school  in  northern  Alaska  may  have 
its  herd  of  reindeer. 


REINDEER  FOR  ALASKA.  35 

Already  the  animals  have  been  of  marked  service  in  their 
new  home,  though  but  few  have  furnished  milk  or  flesh  for 
human  food,  as  the  purpose  has  been  to  raise  as  many  fawns 
as  possible,  and  to  kill  deer  for  meat  only  in  cases  of  necessity. 
But  many  have  been  trained  to  harness,  and  so  become  of 
great  utility. 

They  have  proved  that  in  the  coldest  of  winter  weather 
long  journeys  may  be  taken  which  would  be  impossible  with 
dog- teams,  for  after  a  hard  day's  march  the  reindeer  readily 
finds  his  food  by  digging  with  his  sharp  hoof  through  the 
snow  to  the  abundant  moss. 

Americans  are  beginning  to  look  on  the  reindeer  as  their 
means  of  economical  transportation  to  the  rich,  but  hitherto 
almost  inaccessible,  gold-mines  of  the  Yukon  River,  and  so 
what  was  begun  as  a  benevolent  enterprise  seems  likely  to 
result  in  a  most  profitable  investment. 

CHARLES  ADAMS. 


On  the  Yukon. 

On  the  left  or  southern  bank  of  the  Yukon  River,  almost 
on  the  Arctic  Circle,  lies  Circle  City,  the  first  American 
Arctic  town.  It  has  grown  up  since  1894  out  of  the  rush 
of  miners  to  the  gold-fields  thereabout.  Perhaps  no  town 
inhabited  by  civilized  people  was  ever  before  built  in  so  remote 
and  seemingly  inaccessible  a  spot,  even  in  Siberia. 

The  miners  who  work  the  placer  claims  in  the  vicinity  can 
reach  it  only  by  a  most  laborious  and  perilous  journey,  mostly 
on  foot,  in  dog-sledges,  and  in  canoes,  of  nearly  nine  hundred 
miles  from  Juneau  ;  for  though  in  summer  boats  can  go  up  the 
Yukon,  the  river  opens  so  late  that  miners  cannot  arrive  by 
water  in  time  for  the  season's  work,  and  must  start  over  the 
land  and  inland-river  route  in  March. 

The  nearest  settlement  to  Circle  City  is  one  hundred  and 
seventy  miles  away  ;  this  is  Forty-Mile  Post,  another  American 
mining  town.  It  is  one  thousand  miles 'from  any  place  of 
consequence.  To  transport  freight  to  or  from  the  mines, 
from  Circle  City,  costs  forty  .cents  a  pound. 

However,  in  spite  of  its  extraordinary  situation,  Circle 
City  was  at  last  accounts  very  prosperous.  Its  buildings  are 
substantially  constructed  of  logs,  which  cost  from  four  to  six 
dollars  apiece.  Rough,  whipsawed  lumber  cost  one  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  a  thousand.  The  unskilled  laborer  received 
ten  dollars  a  day,  and  any  kind  of  skilled  labor  was  paid  for  at 
the  rate  of  two  dollars  and  a  half  an  hour. 

If  prices  are  high  at  Circle  City,  they  are  low  there 
compared  with  those  which  prevail  up  on  Mastodon  Creek, 
where  the  mining  claims  are  located.  At  Circle  City  flour 
can  be  bought  for  sixteen  dollars  a  hundred  pounds ;  but  at 
Mastodon  Creek  it  costs  fifty-six  dollars  a  hundred  pounds.  If 
gold-dust  could  be  eaten  it  would  almost  seem  better  economy, 
under  certain  circumstances,  to  live  on  that  than  on  flour. 


38  ON   THE   YUKON. 

However,  the  few  men  who  strike  it  rich  here  find  that 
they  can  afford  to  pay  these  prices.  One  man  brought  two 
hundred  and  eighty-six  pounds  of  gold  into  San  Francisco, 
for  which  he  realized  about  $55,000.  He  had  paid  out  to 
twenty  working  miners  between  $13,000  and  $14,000  of  the 
gold  he  had  taken  out  of  his  claim  in  two  months'  time ; 
but  he  had  a  fortune  left. 

Gold-mining  of  the  sort  that  is  carried  on  here  was  prob- 
ably never  before  seen.  Many  of  the  claims  are  worked  by 
burning ;  that  is  to  say,  a  fire  is  built  on  the  ground,  which  is 
forever  frozen,  and  when  a  thin  layer  of  the  earth  is  thawed 
the  mud  is  dug  out,  and  the  fire  built  again  on  the  same  spot. 
Little  by  little,  in  this  painful  manner,  a  shaft  is  sunk  through 
the  everlasting  frost  of  the  Arctic. 

On  Mastodon  Creek,  as  a  recent  visitor  has  said,  a  glacier 
covers  the  pay  streak  for  over  half  a  mile.  The  glacier  is 
from  fifty  to  a  hundred  feet  high  and  several  hundred  feet 
wide  ;  yet  all  the  ground  underneath  it  has  been  located,  and 
the  glacier  is  being  broken  up  by  means  of  giant  powder,  so 
that  men  can  get  at  the  chance  of  finding  gold  beneath  it  on 
the  claims  they  have  bought  there. 

For  this  men  separate  themselves  from  the  world  and  all 
chance  of  hearing  from  those  who  are  dearest  to  them.  For  a 
long  time  every  letter  that  anyone  in  Circle  City  received,  cost 
a  dollar  to  bring  up  from  the  coast.  Now  the  government 
brings  the  letters,  but  cannot  bring  newspapers,  so  that  Circle 
City  never  sees  a  newspaper  unless  it  is  brought  up  by  a 
new-comer. 

All  through  the  summer  of  1896  the  people  of  Circle  City 
knew  nothing  at  all  about  the  presidential  election,  not  even 
who  were  the  candidates.  However,  business  was  good  ;  the 
people,  without  any  lawful  government,  made  a  government 
of  their  own,  and  lived  peaceably,  earning  much  money  and 
paying  much  out,  and  eating  canned  and  desiccated  vegetables 
and  moose  meat  in  abundance. 

Circle    City    itself    is    southern    compared    with    mining 


ON   THE   YUKON.  39 

districts  that  are  likely  to  come  into  existence  in  Alaska. 
Prospectors  are  scattering  themselves  all  about  the  Arctic 
wastes.  Rich  gold  has  been  found  in  a  district  called  the 
Kuokuk,  which  is  two  hundred  miles  northeast  of  Circle  City. 
If  that  district  should  be  developed,  the  terrors  of  the  gold- 
hunting  journey  would  be  increased. 

This  journey  is  already  one  of  the  most  formidable  ever 
undertaken  in  search  of  gold.  The  first  hundred  miles  from 
Juneau,  which  is  on  salt  water,  is  made  by  steamboat ;  then 
the  canoe  is  used  for  six  miles  ;  and  then  a  rugged  mountain 
must  be  climbed  on  foot  to  the  summit  at  Chilkoot  Pass. 
This  climb  is  one  of  great  hardship  ;  Indians  are  commonly 
employed  to  assist  in  carrying  the  miners'  burdens.  Blizzards 
rage  here  as  late  as  April,  and  many  lives  have  been  lost. 

Beyond  the  summit  there  is  a  steep  descent ;  and  hereabout 
dog-sledges  are  employed  as  far  as  the  head  waters  of  the 
Yukon  River.  From  here  the  boats  are  resumed  ;  and  in  the 
Lewes  River,  which  flows  into  the  Yukon,  the  terrible  White 
Horse  rapids,  where  many  expeditions  have  been  wrecked  and 
many  adventurers  drowned,  must  be  passed.  Below  these, 
again,  are  the  Five  Finger  and  Rink  rapids ;  but  the  Yukon 
itself  affords  few  difficulties,  compared  with  the  journey  up  to 
that  point. 

With  all  this  toil  and  danger  in  reaching  them,  the 
Alaskan  gold-fields  certainly  afford  a  good  return.  A  great 
value  in  gold  has  been  added,  through  them,  to  the  wealth 
of  our  country  ;  but  fortunes,  too,  have  been  swept  away  in 
getting  it. 

J.  E.  CHAMBERUN. 


Volcania. 

It  gives  one  but  a  slight  idea  of  the  extent  of  Alaska  to 
hear  that  it  has  an  area  of  more  than  five  hundred  thousand 
square  miles.  We  may,  perhaps,  illumine  this  bald  numerical 
fact  somewhat  by  stating  that  Alaska  is  as  extensive  as  the 
entire  Eastern,  Middle  and  Central  States  east  of  the  Missis- 
sippi, with  Virginia  and  the  two  Carolinas  thrown  in. 

As  the  great  West  fills  with  inhabitants,  the  grand  fisheries 
of  Alaska  and  its  unrivalled  resources  of  timber  and  the 
precious  metals  will  eventually  make  it  the  residence  of  a 
considerable  white  population. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed,  however,  that  this  vast  extent 
of  territory  can  be  included  within  the  limits  of  a  single  state. 
Nature,  indeed,  has  indicated  three  divisions  of  Alaska, 
and  we  may  amuse  ourselves  by  naming  somewhat  in  advance 
of  history  these  three  future  states  of  the  far  Northwest. 

First,  Southern  Alaska,  embracing  the  thousand  islands  of 
the  Sitkan  or  Alexander  archipelago,  and  the  mountainous 
coast  south  of  the  snow-clad  Rocky  Range  as  far  west  as 
Cook  Inlet,  may  bear  the  name  of  Oceana,  since  nearly 
half  of  it  is  in  the  ocean. 

Second,  the  territory  north  of  the  mountains,  consisting 
of  the  valley  of  the  Yukon,  and  the  great  northern  plains, 
which  stretch  away  to  the  Arctic  Ocean,  may  well  retain 
the  name  of  Alaska,  the  "great  land." 

Third,  the  Aleutian  Islands,  including  the  large  island 
of  Kadiak  and  the  isolated  peninsula  of  Alaska  west  of 
Cook  Inlet,  may,  from  the  great  number  and  grandeur  of 
their  volcanoes,  be  very  appropriately  named  Volcania. 

Oceana,  Alaska,  Volcania,  the  three  far  Northwest  States 
of  the  great  Republic  !  There  can  be  no  harm,  at  least,  in 
thus  designating  them  for  the  moment. 


VOIvCANIA.  41 

It  is  of  the  wonders  of  Volcania  that  we  wish  now  to  speak. 
Nowhere  in  the  world  is  there  a  region  so  favorable  for 
studying  volcanic  phenomena  as  the  Aleutian  Islands  and 
the  Peninsula  of  Alaska.  The  mountains,  almost  submerged 
in  the  Pacific,  stretch  out  from  America  toward  Asia  for  a 
distance  of  over  two  thousand  miles,  till  the  last  rocky  peak 
finally  disappears  beneath  the  waves  beyond  Attu,  six 
thousand  miles  west  of  Boston. 

Our  fancifully  named  State  of  Volcania  is  thus  more  than 
two  thousand  miles  in  length  from  east  to  west.  Of  how 
many  islands  it  consists,  or  how  many  craters  smoke  along 

this  vastly  extended 
chain  of  islets,  no  one 
yet  knows. 

The   first    island   of' 
the  chain,  looking  west- 
ward from   the   end   of 
the  Alaskan  peninsula, 
Unimak-  bears  the   native   name 

of  Unimak,  and  may  be  represented  as  the  rocky  roof  of  a 
vast  subterranean  furnace  out  of  which  tower  two  grand 
chimney-cones,  Shishaldin  and  Pogrumnoi  Sopka,  or  the 
booming  mountain. 

Shishaldin,  the  loftier  of  the  two,  is  by  far  the  most  beauti- 
ful and  symmetrical  volcanic  cone  in  America.  It  is  entirely 
of  volcanic  formation,  and  rises  directly  from  sea  level  to  a 
height  of  nearly  nine  thousand  feet.  A  jet  of  white  vapor 
rises  constantly  from  its  summit. 

At  times  the  white  steam  cloud  darkens,  in  sympathy  with 
its  more  unquiet  partner,  but  it  has  not  been  in  a  state  of 
eruption  during  the  last  century.  The  sides  and  flanks  of 
the  cone  are  marked  by  the  blackened  pathways  of  many 
old  lava  torrents,  distinctly  visible  when  the  warm  suns  of 
July  melt  away  the  snow-fields  that  clothe  the  mountain  above 
an  altitude  of  three  thousand  feet  for  nearly  the  entire  year. 
Pogrumnoi  has  a  rougher  outline,  and  a  broad,  double- 


VOLCANIA. 


peaked  summit.  Its  altitude  is  estimated  at  five  thousand 
five  hundred  feet.  Its  sides  are  strewn  with  enormous  black 
boulders  which  lie  embedded  in  glacial  ice.  Its  cap  remains 
black  during  the  entire  year,  the  heat  of  the  crater  melting 
the  snows  as  they  fall. 

Smoke,  inky  black  in  color,  is  seen  rising  from  its  summit 
every  few  days,  and  sounds  as  of  low,  muffled  thunder-peals 
are  frequently  audible  over  the  whole  island,  accompanied  by 
alarming  tremors  of  the  ground. 

Westward  a  few  leagues  from  Unimak,  the  smoking  head 
of  another  seared  and  blackened  cone  is  plainly  visible,  when 
the  fog  banks  which  lie  heavy  along  the  straits  lift  a  little. 
It  is  four  or  five  thousand  feet  in  height,  a  great  and  constant 
smoker,  but  not  recently  eruptive. 

The  next  island,  looking  westerly,  is  Unalaska,  on  which 
is  located  a  trading  hamlet,  containing  a  population  of 
less  than  five  hundred  ^..  .. 

Aleuts.  There  is  an- 
other snow-clad  vol- 
cano, an  occasional 
mutterer,  but  generally 
a  peaceful  smoker 

The  natives  regard 
it  with  pride  and  ven- 
eration, and  take  pleas- 
ure in  contrasting  its 

model  behavior  with  that  of  other  more  restless  craters  on 
neighboring  islands.  They  fancy  that  seen  from  the  north  it 
resembles  a  gigantic  human  form,  laid  out  for  burial,  with  a 
white  shroud  thrown  over  the  upper  portion  of  the  body. 

Sailing  westerly  again,  the  next  island  reached  is  Umnak, 
in  the  interior  of  which  smokes  a  lofty  volcano.  Twenty 
miles  to  the  north  of  Umnak,  the  peak  of  Bogoslof  towers 
above  the  pale-green  waters  of  Bering  Sea.  This  islet  is 
remarkable  for  having  risen  out  of  the  ocean  within  the 
memory  of  living  men.  It  is  the  youngest  island  of  the 


VOIvCANIA.  43 

Aleutian  chain,  and  its  fiery  birth  was  attended  by  exceed- 
ingly grand  volcanic  and  marine  phenomena. 

Beyond  Umnak,  islet  succeeds  islet  for  over  six  hundred 
miles,  far  over  toward  Asia ;  among  these  is  Atka,  where  are 
hot  springs,  mud  volcanoes  and  paint-pots  fully  equal  to 
those  in  the  Yellowstone  Park. 

Attu,  the  most  westerly  point  of  land  where  the  American 
flag  flies,  is  an  island  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  in  extent,  and  of 
volcanic  origin,  like  all  the  others  of  this  long  chain.  It  is 
inhabited  by  about  a  hundred  hardy,  honest-hearted  Aleuts, 
and  half-breeds  of  mixed  native  and  Russian  parentage,  who 
subsist  by  seal-hunting,  fishing,  and  the  propagation  of 
foxes  and  domestic  geese. 

They  are  so  honest  and  kind  that  no  explorer  or  visitor 
need  have  the  least  fear  of  going  among  them,  alone  and 
unarmed.  They  engage  in  seal  and  whale  fisheries  to  some 
extent  as  a  means  of  livelihood,  but  their  principal  business  is 
the  pursuit  and  capture  of  the  sea  otter.  An  expert  Aleutian 
hunter  sometimes  clears  two  thousand  dollars  a  year  from  this 
industry  alone. 

Aside  from  fish  and  the  flesh  of  young  seals,  their  food 
supply  comes  to  them  mainly  by  way  of  the  traders  to  whom 
they  sell  their  furs.  Their  houses  are  warmed  by  American 
cast-iron  stoves ;  they  use  American  breech-loading  carbines 
and  cartridges ;  they  send  their  children  to  school,  when  it 
keeps,  and  to  Sunday  school,  and  they  would  vote  at  the 
presidential  election  if  they  could. 

In  short,  there  seems  to  be  no  good  reason  why  Volcania 
should  not  be  admitted  as  a  state,  as  soon  as  the  population 
reaches  the  necessary  figure.  But  that  will  be  a  good  many 
years  hence. 

C.  A.  STEPHENS. 


The  Hermits  of  Western  Alaska. 

At  the  present  time  it  is  unusual  to  find  men  living  alone, 
cut  off  from  communication  with  the  world  by  land  and  sea. 
We  think  of  hermits  and  waste  places  as  things  of  the  past. 
Yet  on  the  coast  of  western  Alaska  there  are  men  who  live  as 
much  apart  from  their  fellows  as  did  the  famous  hero  of  Defoe. 

Many  of  the  small  islands  situated  near  the  large  island  of 
Kadiak  have  been  leased  for  a  term  of  years  from  the  United 
States  government  by  various  fur  companies,  who  have  stocked 
them  with  silver-gray  foxes.  It  is  customary  to  keep  a  man 
on  each  of  the  small  islands  to  prevent  the  foxes  from  being 
molested  by  hunters.  In  the  course  of  a  trip  along  the 
Alaskan  coast  I  had  an  opportunity  to  visit  several  of  these 
hired  hermits. 

Ugak  Island,  like  most  of  those  selected  for.  the  breeding 
of  foxes,  is  small.  It  contains  only  about  sixteen  square 
miles.  lyike  the  main  island  of  Kadiak,  it  consists  of  high 
mountains  barren  of  trees,  but  covered  with  a  dense  growth 
of  grass.  The  long  twilight  of  the  northern  summer  day  was 
beginning  when  the  little  salmon-cannery  tugboat  on  which 
I  was  a  passenger  steamed  along  the  extremely  bold  and  pre- 
cipitous east  shore  of  Kadiak,  approaching  Ugak  Island. 

The  huge  grass-covered,  snow-topped  mountains  which 
rise  in  endless  succession  toward  the  interior  of  Kadiak  are 
broken  off  at  the  coast  in  magnificent  sharp  cliffs,  which  often 
rise  abruptly  to  the  height  of  a  thousand  feet. 

L,ong,  broken  lines  of  jagged  rocks  jut  out  into  the  sea 
from  all  the  cliffs  and  promontories,  and  their  distorted  masses 
take  on  all  manner  of  grotesque  shapes,  often  forming  natural 
rock  arches.  The  approach  to  Ugak  Island  from  the  north  is 
through  a  labyrinth  of  these  rocks,  and  a  minute  knowledge 
of  the  wild  coast  is  necessary  in  order  to  navigate  with  safety 
even  a  small  vessel. 


46  THE   HERMITS   OF  WESTERN   ALASKA. 

A  strong  wind  from  the  north  drove  the  long  swells  down 
the  coast,  causing  the  spray  to  flash  among  the  black  rocks, 
while  the  white  lines  far  ahead  showed  where  the  sea  broke 
on  the  cliffs  of  Ugak.  Taken  altogether,  the  gigantic,  black- 
looking  mountains,  the  dark,  open  sea,  and  the  heavy,  low- 
rolling  clouds,  made  a  grand  scene  of  solitude  and  desolation. 
As  our  little  steamer  came  to  anchor  about  a  half-mile  off 
the  shore,  and  just  outside  an  immense  bank  of  kelp,  it 
seemed  hardly  probable  that  the  island  possessed  any  inhab- 
itants. A  field-glass,  however,  showed  a  small  boat  drawn 
up  some  distance  on  the  beach.  Toward  this,  after  some 
moments,  the  figures  of  a  man  and  dog  were  seen  moving 
slowly.  The  visit  of  the  steamer  to  Ugak 
was  for  the  purpose  of  furnishing  provisions 
to  this  solitary  man,  who  did  duty  as  watch- 
man on  the  island. 

As  we  watched  the  man  shoving  his  boat 
toward  the  water,  the  dog  could  be  seen 
rushing  here  and  there,  apparently  very 
much  excited,  and  after  the  boatman  had 
begun  rowing  out  to  us,  the  animal  con- 
FOX.  tinued  to  run  up  and  down  the  beach,  and 
from  the  edge  of  the  grass  to  the  water. 
With  quick,  vigorous  strokes  the  man  pulled  his  dory  to 
the  steamer's  side.  As  he  stepped  aboard,  we  saw  a  man  of 
powerful  build,  somewhat  past  the  middle  age,  and  carrying 
with  him  a  hopeless,  despondent  air.  He  greeted  us  pleas- 
antly, showing  by  his  broken  speech  a  foreign  origin,  probably 
Norwegian. 

He  told  us  that  before  our  coming  no  boat  had  approached 
the  island  in  nine  months.  The  only  person  he  had  seen 
during  that  time  was  a  man  who  lived  alone,  like  himself,  on 
another  island,  five  miles  distant.  In  times  of  pleasant 
weather,  when  the  sea  was  calm,  and  the  surf  not  too  great 
for  landing  on  the  beach,  these  two  men  could  exchange  visits 
by  means  of  their  small  boats. 


THK    HERMITS   OF   WESTERN    ALASKA.  47 

The  man's  manner  of  speech  partook  of  the  same  air  of 
discouragement  which  marked  his  whole  bearing.  Having 
received  from  the  captain  a  few  newspapers  of  the  latest  date 
that  we  had,  and  a  single  letter  bearing  a  European  postmark, 
he  commenced  loading  the  boat  with  his  stores  for  the  winter. 

In  silence  he  took  the  supplies  of  flour,  coffee,  rice,  sugar, 
tobacco  and  ammunition  which  were  handed  down  to  him, 
and  stowed  them  under  an  old  piece  of  sail-canvas  in  the 
little  boat  which  monotonously  jarred  and  rubbed  against  the 
vessel's  side.  When  he  was  ready  to  depart,  he  offered  to 
take  us  ashore  in  his  boat.  We  gladly  availed  ourselves  of 
the  opportunity  to  see  his  hermit  abode. 

When  we  touched  the  shore,  the  dog,  whose  wild  barking 
we  had  heard  for  some  time,  and  who  proved  to  be  a  tremen- 
dous fellow,  rushed  upon  us,  frantic  with  joy  at  the  sight  of  a 
group  of  human  beings. 

As  we  followed  our  guide  toward  the  strip  of  meadow 
which  skirted  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  we  looked  for  his 
dwelling,  but  even  at  close  range  it  was  difficult  to  make  out 
the  hut  amidst  the  tall,  coarse  grass  which  commenced  almost 
at  the  water's  edge.  L,ike  all  the  sod  huts  which  I  have  seen 
along  the  western  shore  of  Alaska,  this  one  was  chiefly  dis- 
tinguishable as  a  dwelling  by  the  glass  windows  which  could 
be  seen  half-hidden  in  the  green  turf  covering  the  sides.  A 
bit  of  stovepipe  was  also  visible,  projecting  amidst  the  grass 
of  the  low,  rounded  roof. 

On  looking  in  at  the  door,  nothing  could  at  first  be  seen 
on  account  of  the  failing  daylight.  When  a  candle  had  been 
lighted,  however,  the  furnishings  of  the  single  apartment 
became  apparent. 

A  small  stove  occupied  one  corner,  and  by  it  were  a  few 
sticks  of  driftwood.  Part  of  an  old  ship's  bunk  served  as  a 
bed,  and  opposite  to  it  stood  a  large,  bare  table.  On  this  was 
a  dismantled  oil  lamp,  evidently  in  disuse ;  a  bottle  holding  a 
lighted  candle;  a  few  books,  pipes  and  tobacco,  and  old  copies 
of  San  Francisco  newspapers.  Chairs,  benches,  a  seaman's 


48  THE   HERMITS   OF  WESTERN   ALASKA. 

chest,  and  shelves  with  cooking-utensils  made  up  the  rest  of 
the  furnishings.  Provisions  were  kept  in  a  small  hut  behind 
the  living  house. 

In  course  of  conversation  the  islander  informed  us  that 
driftwood  was  always  to  be  had  in  plenty  along  the  beach,  so 
that  he  never  lacked  for  fuel.  Great  numbers  of  ptarmigan 
were  on  the  island,  and  furnished  him  with  many  a  meal. 
He  said,  however,  that  although  fish,  both  cod  and  halibut, 
could  be  had  in  abundance  near  the  island,  he  caught  them 
only  for  his  dog,  who  liked  fish.  Thus  the  seaman's  dislike 
for  fish  was  strong  enough  in  this  man  to  prevent  him  from 
making  use  of  a  copious  store  of  food. 

All  interest  in  the  outside  world  appeared  to  have  died  in 
him.  I  do  not  remember  that  he  asked  a  single  question  in 
regard  to  affairs  which  did  not  directly  concern  him  or  his 
needs. 

When  the  steamer's  boat  came  for  us  we  bade  good-by  to 
the  hermit,  and  left  him  standing  on  the  shore  with  the 
great  north  wind  dashing  spray  over  him  from  the  beach  surf. 
Forcing  our  way  through  the  kelp-bank  to  the  steamer,  we 
looked  back  along  the  gray  beach,  but  as  if  by  enchantment, 
the  man,  his  house,  his  dog  and  his  boat  had  disappeared, 
and  nothing  was  visible  but  the  sea,  and  the  dark,  towering 
mountains  with  ragged  shreds  of  mist  driven  around  their 
barren  heights. 

C.  W.    PURINGTON. 


Seal   Islands  of  Alaska. 

Far  away  in  the  northwest  of  the  United  States,  in  Bering 
Sea,  are  four  islands  of  volcanic  origin  thrown  up  from  the 
bottom  of  the  ocean  in  comparatively  modern  times,  and 
which  are  known  as  the  Pribilof  group.  The  two  larger 
islands  are  named  St.  Paul  and  St.  George,  and  the  two 
smaller  ones  Otter  Island,  which  is  six  miles  south  of  St.  Paul, 
and  Walrus  Island,  about  the  same  distance  to  the  eastward. 

St.  Paul  is  thirteen  miles  long  by  four  broad ;  St.  George 
is  ten  miles  long  and  nearly  five  broad.  The  two  large  islands 
are  situated  thirty  miles  from  each  other.  Since  neither  one 
has  a  harbor,  vessels  are  obliged  to  anchor  half  a  mile  or  more 
offshore,  and  freight  is  taken  on  board  or  is  landed  by  means 
of  lighters. 

These  are  the  Alaska  seal  islands  of  which  we  hear  so 
much,  and  whence  come  some  four-fifths  of  all  the  sealskins 
used  in  the  markets  of  the  world.  This  assertion  may  seem 
an  extravagant  estimate,  but  it  is  quite  correct. 

At  the  time  of  their  discovery  the  islands  were  uninhabited, 
but  natives  from  the  mainland  and  large  islands  of  the 
Aleutian  group  were  brought  hither  by  the  Russian  Fur 
Company.  Since  Alaska  was  transferred  by  purchase  to  our 
government,  these  people  and  their  descendants  have  worked 
for  the  San  Francisco  Commercial  Company,  which  is  an 
American  organization. 

It  is  curious  that  only  these  islands  and  a  few  small  spots 
on  the  Asiatic  shore  of  Bering  Sea  should  possess  the  peculiar 
conditions  of  landing-ground  and  climate  combined,  which  are 
necessary  for  the  perfect  life  and  reproduction  of  the  fur-seal. 
These  islands  are  enveloped  in  dense  fog  banks  during  a  large 
portion  of  the  breeding  season,  and  as  neither  the  islanders 
nor  seals  can  bear  for  any  great  length  of  time  the  intense 


50  SEAL  ISLANDS   OF   ALASKA. 

glare  and  heat  of  the  summer  sun,  there  is  no  complaint 
against  this  prevailing  screen  between  them  and  the  sky. 

The  seals  move  in  herds,  coming  to  the  breeding  grounds 
in  countless  numbers  at  regular  seasons  of  the  year,  that  is, 
during  the  latter  part  of  May  and  early  in  June.  The  males 
are  large,  bold  and  aggressive  ;  the  females  are  small,  peaceful 
and  gentle  ;  and  both  are  models  of  symmetry  and  physical 
strength. 

The  young  are  born  blind  and  remain  so  for  a  couple  of 


Starting    Inland. 

weeks,  the  mother  rarely  giving  birth  to  more  than  one  at  a 
time.  When  they  have  arrived  at  the  age  of  six  weeks,  the 
mothers  take  them  into  the  water  and  teach  them  to  swim. 
At  first  they  seem  to  fear  the  water  and  require  some  coaxing 
to  enter  it,  but  soon  develop  a  natural  affinity  for  it.  Occa- 
sionally a  young  one  is  found  domesticated  among  the  natives 


ISLANDS   OF   ALASKA.  51 

of  the  more  populous  islands,  and  when  they  are  thus  brought 
up  among  human  beings  they  are  easily  taught  to  perform 
many  amusing  tricks,  seeming  to  possess  intelligence  closely 
resembling  that  of  the  dog. 

It  is  common  to  speak  of  the  seal  fisheries,  but  there  is  no 
fishing  about  the  capture  of  these  animals.  In  securing  them 
the  employes  of  the  company  get  between  the  seals  and  the 
water,  driving  such  as  are  selected  inland  like  a  flock  of  sheep. 
A  seal  is  thought  to  yield  the  best  fur  at  four  years  of  age, 
when  it  is  considered  to  be  at  its  prime.  The  males  of  this 
age  are  the  ones  selected  for  slaughter.  When  driven  on 
land  toward  the  factory  they  move  slowly,  pulling  them- 
selves along  by  their  flippers,  as  a  dog  might  do  with  his  hind 
legs  broken,  but  they  get  over  the  ground  at  the  rate  of  a  mile 
or  more  in  an  hour. 

The  old  males  weigh  from  two  to  three  hundred  pounds 
each  when  they  first  land,  and  when  full  grown  measure  from 
six  to  seven  feet  in  length.  The  females  rarely  exceed  five  feet 
in  length,  and  weigh  about  a  hundred  pounds  each.  The  kill- 
ing season  lasts  six  weeks,  from  early  in  June  to  late  in  July. 

The  animals  are  deprived  of  life  by  a  single  blow  upon 
the  head  from  a  club,  which  fractures  the  skull  and  produces 
instant  death.  The  natives  are  so  skilful  in  dealing  this  blow 
that  a  second  one  is  rarely  required,  and  the  seal  cannot  be 
supposed  to  suffer  any  pain.  One  gang  of  men  goes  first, 
killing  the  seals  by  a  single  blow  as  described,  another 
follows  with  sharp  knives,  cutting  the  animals'  throats  to 
make  sure  of  death,  while  a  third  with  great  skill  and  rapidity 
skins  the  still  warm  bodies. 

The  hides,  or  pelts  as  they  are  called,  are  packed  in  salt 
and  stored  preparatory  to  being  shipped  to  London,  England, 
where  the  business  of  properly  curing  and  dyeing  them  is  done 
before  they  are  put  upon  the  market  and  sold  for  personal 
wear.  The  flesh  of  the  young  seals  is  eaten  both  by  the 
whites  and  the  natives,  while  the  blubber  of  the  older  ones 
serves  for  fuel  under  certain  circumstances.  A  good  quality 


52  SEAL   ISLANDS  OF   ALASKA. 

of  oil  was  formerly  extracted  from  the  carcasses  of  the  seals, 
but  the  business  no  longer  pays  since  the  discovery  of  petroleum 
oils. 

So  numerous  are  the  seals  that  the  shores  of  the  islands 
during  the  season  are  black  with  them  for  miles.  It  has  been 
officially  estimated  that  over  a  million  seals  are  born  annually 
upon  the  two  islands  of  St.  George  and  St.  Paul. 

Man  is  not  the  only  enemy  which  the  fur-seal  has  to 
encounter.  When  the  young  ones  leave  the  shore  for  their 
deep-sea  life,  many  become  the  prey  of  voracious  marine 
animals,  among  which  the  shark  is  said  to  be  the  most  active. 
This  tiger  of  the  ocean  does  not  attack  the  full-grown  seals ; 
they  are  too  wary  and  active  for  him,  but  the  young  ones 
often  fill  his  capacious  mouth. 

The  strange  instinct  of  the  fur-seal  which  causes  it  to 
return  annually  in  such  untold  numbers  to  be  slaughtered 
by  the  hand  of  man,  is  a  mystery  difficult  to  understand. 
Persistent  persecution  for  more  than  a  century  has  not 
lessened  their  affection  for  this  chosen  breeding-place  of 
their  ancestors  in  Bering  Sea. 

No  one  can  say  where  they  go  after  leaving  these  islands,  as 
no  large  number  of  seals  are  met  by  navigators  in  any  part  of 
the  Pacific  or  South  Seas.  The  author  has  seen  a  few  in  the 
month  of  May  among  the  waters  of  the  Samoan  group  of 
islands,  and  in  the  month  of  December  on  the  coast  of  Cochin 
China.  Occasionally  one  will  show  its  glossy  head  above  the 
waves  of  the  Indian  Ocean,  but  these  instances  only  serve  to 
show  how  widely  they  are  dispersed. 

M.  M.  BALLOU. 


Sea-Lions. 

The  huge  sea-elephant  of  the  Antarctic  seas  is  the  largest 
animal  allied  to  the  seal  which  has  existed  within  the  memory 
of  man. 

Next  to  this  animal  in  size  is  the  sea-lion,  which  is  found 
chiefly  on  the  islands  of  the  Bering  Sea.  This  creature  is  not 
fur-bearing.  Its  hair,  generally  of  a  reddish-brown  color,  but 
sometimes  spotted  like  that  of  a  leopard,  is  about  an  inch  and 
a  half  long.  The  animal  is  slaughtered  for  materials  of  value 
which  its  carcass  contains. 

Seventy  years  ago  sea-lions  abounded  on  St.  George  Island, 
but  they  were  hunted  with  so  little  mercy  that  comparatively 
few  are  seen  there  at  present.  St.  Paul,  the  larger  island  of 
the  group,  is  now  the  chief  hunting-ground. 

They  are,  however,  occasionally  met  as  far  south  as  San 
Francisco  and  even  southern  California. 

The  old  males  are  powerful  creatures.  Sometimes  they  are 
ten  feet  long,  and  have  a  girth  around  the  shoulders  of  nine 
feet,  and  a  weight  of  fifteen  hundred  pounds.  Only  the 
largest  horses  of  our  cities  weigh  as  much  as  that. 

Like  the  lion,  they  have  grizzly  manes  of  a  tawny  color. 
Like  the  bulldog,  their  eyes  are  partially  concealed  beneath 
very  heavy  brows.  This  gives  them  a  fierce  appearance. 

If  let  alone,  they  are  harmless,  but  if  attacked  they  are 
ugly  customers.  Their  great  teeth  are  pearly  white,  and 
the  canine  teeth  are  very  long  and  sharp. 

The  female  or  cow,  as  she  is  called,  is  less  than  half  as 
heavy  as  the  bull,  although  nearly  as  long.  She  is,  therefore, 
much  more  slender  and  graceful. 

By  the  tenth  of  August  the  sea-lions  begin  to  shed  their 
coats.  By  November  they  usually  leave  Bering  Sea,  although 
a  few  sometimes  remain  there  during  the  winter  months. 

On   land  they  travel  with  difficulty.     They  do   not   drag 


54 


SEA-I.IONS. 


their  hind-flippers,  as  seals  do,  but  keep  them  under  their 
bodies,  after  the  manner  of  the  sea-bear. 

When  in  the  water,  they  propel  themselves  by  their  power- 
ful fore-flippers,  and  show  great  speed.  Usually  they  swim 
at  the  rate  of  six  or  seven  miles  an  hour,  but  sometimes  they 
show  a  rate  of  fourteen  or  fifteen  miles.  They  must  come  to 


A   Sea-Lion'  Hunt. 

the   surface   to   breathe,    though,    if   they   choose,   they   can 
remain  below  the  surface  ten  minutes  at  a  time. 

They  are  happiest  when  a  heavy  sea  is  running,  for  they 
take  great  delight  in  the  dashing  surf.  A  fierce  gale,  with  its 
crested  breakers,  gives  occasion  for  a  rare  frolic.  They  are 
as  fond  of  play  as  young  puppies.  Their  singular  antics  at 


SKA-I.IONS.  55 

Seal  Rocks,  near  San  Francisco,  are  a  familiar  sight  to 
residents  and  sojourners.  Their  roar  is  terrific.  When  the 
old  bulls  are  engaged  in  a  deadly  conflict,  and  when  once  their 
powerful  jaws  are  closed  upon  the  throat  of  a  fierce  antagonist, 
there  is  no  letting  go  until  the  teeth  are  torn  out  in  the 
struggle. 

It  is  estimated  that  ten  thousand  sea-lions  resort  yearly  to 
the  Pribilof  Islands.  Near  the  northeastern  point  of  St.  Paul 
Island  is  a  place  called  Sea-I,ion  Neck,  where  these  creatures 
congregate  in  especially  large  numbers.  When  the  taking  of 
fur-seals  is  over  for  the  season,  twenty  of  the  best  men  are 
sent  to  capture  these  lions. 

The  best  time  to  hunt  the  animals  is  a  night  when  the  moon 
is  partially  obscured  by  clouds  and  the  wind  favorable.  At 
low  water,  the  hunters  creep,  upon  all  fours,  between  the  herd 
and  the  water.  When  all  the  men  are  ready,  they  rush  upon 
the  sea-lions  with  unearthly  yells,  the  noise  of  pistol-shots, 
and  any  other  clamorous  devices  which  they  can  invent. 

The  lions,  in  terror,  immediately  waddle  off  in  the  direction 
toward  which  they  chance  to  be  headed.  Those  which  go 
toward  the  sea  escape,  while  those  which  take  an  inland 
direction  are  pursued  with  shouts. 

They  soon  become  exhausted,  and  lie  panting  and  helpless 
upon  the  ground.  When  they  are  sufficiently  rested  to  move, 
they  are  driven  by  short  stages  to  headquarters.  Perhaps 
twenty-five  or  thirty,  or  even  forty,  are  thus  secured  on  a 
single  night.  They  are  collected  in  a  circular  cage  or  pen, 
where  they  remain  roaring  and  writhing,  without  any  attempt 
to  break  through  the  flimsy  enclosure,  until  three  or  four 
hundred  are  secured. 

They  are  then  compelled  to  freight  their  own  bodies  eleven 
miles  to  the  village  of  St.  Paul,  on  the  southern  shore  of  the 
island.  The  lubberly  procession  is  from  six  to  twenty  days 
on  the  journey,  the  time  being  determined  largely  by  the 
condition  of  the  atmosphere.  The  animals  can  travel  only  so 
fast  as  their  lungs  will  permit. 


56  SEA-I.IONS. 

To  keep  them  in  line  and  moving,  the  men  wave  flags,  fire 
guns  and  keep  up  their  shouting,  but  nothing  is  so  effective 
in  bringing  to  terms  a  refractory  old  bull  as  a  blue  cotton 
umbrella,  opened  and  shut  in  his  face. 

The  younger  ones  and  those  which  are  less  fat  take  the 
lead,  while  the  old  fat  fellows,  gasping  for  breath,  bring  up 
the  rear. 

Not  far  from  the  starting  point  is  a  lake.  Across  this, 
about  two  miles,  the  herd  is  made  to  swim.  This  saves  much 
time,  since  for  the  sea-lion  it  is  much  easier  to  paddle  than  to 
waddle. 

The  slaughter  begins  when  the  village  is  reached.  It  is 
deemed  prudent  to  shoot  the  old  bulls  in  the  head  with  rifle- 
balls  ;  they  are  too  dangerous  to  kill  with  lances,  as  is  done 
in  the  case  of  the  females  and  the  young  males.  The  females 
are  surrounded,  driven  nearer  and  nearer  together,  and  lanced. 

When  the  whole  herd  is  despatched,  the  bodies  are  dressed 
and  nearly  all  parts  are  put  to  some  use.  The  flesh  of  the 
young  ones  is  considered  good  to  eat.  The  stomachs  are 
used  for  oil- jars.  The  intestines  are  stretched  and  dried,  and 
then  cut  into  strips,  from  which  most  durable  waterproof 
garments  are  manufactured.  Boots  are  also  made  from  the 
skin,  that  of  the  neck  being  used  for  uppers,  and  that  of  the 
flippers  for  soles.  The  boats  of  the  Aleuts  are  made  from 
skins,  which,  after  the  hair  has  been  taken  off,  are  stretched 
over  wooden  frames. 

While  the  white  man  sets  a  great  value  upon  the  seal  on 
account  of  its  beautiful  fur,  the  simple  native  prizes  most 
highly  the  sea-lion,  upon  which  he  so  much  depends  for  the 
necessities  of  his  rude  life. 

B.  PUTNAM. 


Hunting  the  Sea-Otter 

If  our  boys  want  to  understand  and  fully  appreciate  an 
undertaking  which  is  perhaps  the  most  dangerous  and 
uncertain  known  to  any  hunter  of  the  human  race,  they  must 
follow  me  to  Alaska,  and  there  behold  and  note  the  Aleutian 
sea-otter  hunter. 

The  long,  far-extended  chain  of  islands  which  reaches 
almost  across  from  the  Peninsula  of  Alaska  to  Kamchatka, 
and  that  stretch  of  wild,  desolate  coast  which  lies  at  the  foot 
of  the  Mount  St.  Elias  Alps  and  borders  the  islands  south  of 
the  peninsula  is  the  sole  resort  and  refuge  of  the  sea-otter 
to-day  ;  it  is  the  region  which  alone  shelters  that  animal  from 
extermination  by  eager  hunters,  both  white  and  dusky. 

It  protects  them  by  its  violent  tempests  that  beat  the  sea 
into  foam  on  its  bold  cliffs  and  sunken  rocky  reefs,  by  its  chill, 
dense  fogs  which  shroud  everything  in  darkness  for  weeks  at 
a  time,  and  by  the  swift  running  of  ocean  currents,  and 
dangerous  tide  rips. 

Here,  in  the  open  waters  of  the  North  Pacific  Ocean,  never 
many  miles  from  the  shore  of  land  or  island,  and  on  a  few 
rocky  island  reefs  and  islets  north  of  Japan  are  the  last  resorts 
of  the  sea-otter  in  its  struggle  for  existence. 

The  sea-otter  resembles  the  beaver  very  closely  in  size  and 
shape ;  its  head  is  rounder,  however,  and  more  catlike,  while 
its  tail  is  shorter  and  covered  with  dense  fur.  L,ike  the  beaver 
again,  it  has  broad,  webbed  hind  feet,  and  small,  inferior  fore 
hands  ;  but  unlike  that  animal,  it  is  a  meat,  fish  and  shell-fish 
eater,  and  seldom  tastes  a  vegetable  substance. 

The  hunting  of  the  sea-otter  calls  for  hardship  and  risk  of 
life  which  the  chase  of  no  other  fur-bearing  animal  known  to 
man  demands.  It  is  so  alert  and  shy,  so  cunning  and  strong, 
that  its  capture  involves  the  keenest  tact  and  utmost  endur- 
ance on  the  part  of  its  human  captor. 


58  HUNTING   THE   SEA-OTTER. 

The  men  who  make  this  chase  of  the  sea-otter  their  sole 
business  are  mostly  natives  of  the  Aleutian  Islands,  and  of 
the  Alaskan  Peninsula.  In  general  terms  they  have  a  striking 
resemblance  to  the  Japanese  in  stature,  in  physiognomy  and 
disposition,  being  of  a  calm  and  docile  nature.  They  are 
short  and  muscular,  and  the  most  thorough  watermen  in  the 
world. 

Some  of  the  most  successful  hunters  reside  now  in  neat 
frame  cottages,  but  a  majority  of  them  are  still  dwelling  in 
primitive  earthen  dug-out  huts. 

The  richest  hamlet  of  these  people,  owing  to  its  close 
proximity  to  the  most  favored  resorts  of  the  sea-otter,  is 


Morzhovol. 

Morzhovoi,  situated  on  the  extreme  end  of  the  Peninsula  of 
Alaska.  Forty  miles  directly  south  of  its  site  are  the  cele- 
brated Sannak  sea-otter  hunting  grounds,  where  more  than 
half  the  entire  annual  Alaskan  c'atch  is  taken  every  year. 

Sannak  Island,  islets  and  reefs,  embracing  an  area  of  less 
than  twenty  miles  square,  is  the  chief  sea-otter  resort  of  all 
this  vast  wild  region.  It  has  a  coast  circuit  of  about  eighteen 
miles.  Spots  of  sand  beach  are  found  here  and  there,  but  the 
greater  portion  of  its  sea  margin  is  composed  of  enormous 
water-worn  boulders  piled  up  by  the  surf. 


HUNTING  THE  SKA-OTTKR.  59 

To  the  southward  and  westward  of  the  island,  stretching 
directly  out  to  sea,  is  a  succession  of  small  islets  and  reefs, 
which  are  bare  only  at  low  tide,  rocky  shoals  and  heavy  beds 
of  kelp  or  sea-cabbage  surrounding  them ;  then  again,  about 
thirty  miles  to  the  eastward  are  islets  and  reefs,  very  similar 
to  those  of  Sannak,  and  next  in  favor  with  the  sea-otter  as  its 
feeding  and  refuge  ground. 

To  these  islands  hunting  parties  of  Aleuts  come  and  simply 
camp  upon  the  island.  They  do  not  live  upon  it,  because  the 
smell  of  fires  and  refuse  of  a  village  or  villages  would  alarm 
and  drive  every  otter  from  the  whole  extent  of  the  region  now 
so  favored  by  them. 

It  may  be  imagined  to  what  sufferings  the  hardy  native 
hunters  subject  themselves  every  winter  here.  For  weeks  at  a 
time,  though  the  temperature  is  often  below  zero,  they  dare 
not  light  a  fire,  even  for  cooking. 

Before  a  young  Aleut  is  considered  hardy  and  expert 
enough  to  join  a  sea-otter  hunting  party,  he  must  prove  his 
courage  and  skill  by  launching  and  landing  safely  in  heavy 
rollers  and  foaming  surf  his  light  skin  boat.  He  must  be  able 
to  paddle  on  his  course  undeterred  by  thickest  fog  or  fiercest 
wind.  He  must  make  himself  well  nigh  insensible  to  extremes 
of  cold  and  dearth  of  food. 

When  at  last  he  becomes  proficient,  can  paddle  with  safety 
in  the  wildest  storms  at  sea,  and  can  handle  his  bird  and  sea- 
otter  spears  with  precision  and  effect,  he  at  once  joins  the 
select  circle  of  tried  and  trusty  hunters  belonging  to  the 
village  of  his  birth. 

A  sea-otter  hunting  party  contains  anywhere  from  ten  to 
fifty  members,  or  even  more,  according  to  the  size  of  the 
settlement  from  which  it  sets  out.  The  parties  relieve  each 
other  in  rapid  succession,  and  thus  a  continual  search  is 
maintained.  Stimulated  by  the  traders,  this  warfare  is 
rendered  still  more  deadly  to  the  sea-otter,  since  the  best 
improved  breech-loading  rifles  are  now  being  used  in  addition 
to  the  weapons  and  artifices  of  the  natives  themselves. 


60  HUNTING  THE  SEA-OTTER. 

The  fur  of  the  otter  is  the  costliest  and  the  finest  known  to 
man  and  the  skins  range  in  value  from  sixty  dollars  to  one 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars  each.  Some  exceptionally  fine  skins 
bring  the  enormous  sums  of  between  four  hundred  dollars  and 
six  hundred  dollars  each  at  the  L,ondon  sales. 

Extravagant  as  such  a  sum  seems,  yet  when  one  of  these 
perfect  sea-otter  skins  is  spread  out  before  your  eyes,  and 
passed  under  your  fingers,  the  rich  shimmer  of  its  ebony  fur, 
deep,  dense,  soft  and  glossy,  appears  so  strongly,  that  the  first 
objection  of  excessive  cost  is  voted  down. 

When  the  sea-otter  is  searched  for  in  the  open  waters 
which  surround  and,  at  times,  cover  the  reefs  and  rocky  shoals, 
the  natives  go  for  it  in  canoes,  those  queer  little  cigar- shaped, 
skin-covered  boats  in  which  they  travel. 

In  olden  times  the  fleets  were  obliged  to  make  long  and 
dangerous  journeys  to  and  from  the  hunting  grounds  of  the 
sea-otter,  but  nowadays  these  native  hunters  are  carried  from 
their  home  settlements  in  little  sloops  and  schooners  which  are 
owned  by  the  white  traders  who  have  stores  and  warehouses 
in  those  villages.  The  traders  take  the  hunters  and  their 
canoes  down  on  sailing  vessels,  so  as  to  save  time,  and  to  gain 
the  favor  of  the  successful  and  most  daring  hunters. 

In  a  day  or  two,  the  desolate  islets,  the  rocky  reefs  and 
treacherous  shoals  of  the  favored  resorts  of  the  sea-otter  are 
reached.  The  landmarks  are  carefully  noted,  and  if  the 
weather  will  permit,  the  canoes  are  dropped  in  a  harbor  or 
the  roadstead,  where  the  trader  is  to  return  in  due  course  of 
time  to  pick  the  party  up  and  convey  it  home. 

This  desolate  landing-spot  being  the  common  rendezvous 
of  the  party,  a  few  tents  of  cotton  cloth  are  set  up,  and  a  man 
or  two,  the  oldest  or  the  youngest  of  the  party,  put  in  charge 
of  it.  The  scanty  supplies  of  flour,  tea,  tobacco  and  dried 
fish,  which  each  man  has  brought  for  support  during  the 
hunting  trip,  are  carefully  husbanded  here.  The  closest 
attention  is  given  to  the  fishing  gear,  the  sea-castings  on  the 
surf-beaten  beaches,  and  the  indigenous  water- fowl,  for  upon 


HUNTING   THE   SKA-OTTER. 


61 


these  natural  resources  the  party  has  to  live  substantially  for 
the  next  six  weeks  or  three  months,  as  the  case  of  agreement 
with  the  trader  happens  to  be. 

Parties  are  usually  made  up  of  forty  or  fifty  natives,  with 
fifteen  or  twenty  canoes.  Some  one  of  them  is  recognized  by 
common  consent  as  chief,  and  he  orders  their  movements. 
Under  his  direction  they  launch  their  canoes  early  in  the 
dawning,  and  range  themselves  out  over  the  sea  in  a  long  line, 
moving  forward  and  abreast  over  the  water  with  intervals  of 
separation  between  the  canoes  as  wide  as  the  weather  will 
permit  sight  and  sound  to  establish  communications. 

In  this  method  a  fleet  of  twenty  canoes  will  range  abreast 
over  a  line  on  the  water  of  nearly  a  mile  and  a  half  in  length. 


Each  man  is  able  instantly  to  flash  a  signal  to  his  neighbor, 
so  that  if  an  otter's  head  is  discovered  by  any  one  man  in  this 
long  reach  of  inspection,  the  knowledge  of  such  a  discovery  is 
at  once  known  to  every  one  of  the  hunters  in  the  party. 

The  man  who  makes  the  announcement  of  seeing  an  otter 
at  once  urges  his  canoe  toward  the  exact  spot  where,  in  the 
rolling,  tumbling  water,  its  black  head  and  glittering  eye  were 
seen  during  the  instant  it  appeared.  Upon  the  bubbling  wake 
of  its  disappearance  the  natives  stop  their  canoe,  and  hold 


62  HUNTING  THE   SEA-OTTER. 

their  paddles  up  high  in  air,  and  every  other  canoe  in  the  line 
now  hastens  to  take  its  position  in  a  large  circle  around  them. 

The  point  where  the  otter  dove  down  is  the  centre  of  the 
circle.  The  otter  when  it  comes  up  for  breath  must  now  rise, 
in  fifteen  minutes,  at  the  most,  somewhere  within  the  range  of 
one  of  the  hunters'  spears.  As  it  rises,  that  native  nearest  to 
its  popping  eyes  and  wide  expanded  nostrils  at  once  yells  and 
throws  his  spear.  If  he  does  not  strike  it,  he  succeeds  in 
causing  it  instantly  to  dive  again  before  it  has  had  time  to 
draw  its  breath  fully  for  the  usual  stay  under  water. 

Again  the  hunting  circle  is  formed  around  this  second 
wake  of  the  otter's  disappearance,  again  it  is  forced  above  the 
water  to  respire,  and  again  it  is  driven  below  the  surface  as 
before.  This  action  is  repeated  until  the  otter  becomes  so 
weak  by  loss  of  breath  that  it  cannot  force  itself  down  quick 
enough  to  avoid  the  finishing  stroke  from  the  deadly  spear  of 
its  human  enemies. 

The  native  who  has  been  fortunate  enough  to  strike  the 
otter  draws  in  its  struggling  body  by  the  line  attached  to  the 
toggle-headed  spear  point.  When  it  reaches  the  canoe,  he  hits 
its  vicious  head  with  a  small  but  heavy  wooden  club,  and  thus 
safely  beats  out  what  life  remains  in  the  otter.  Then  lifting  its 
limp  form  from  the  water,  with  both  hands  firmly  clasped 
around  its  neck  and  head,  the  Aleutian  hunter  bites  off  the 
extreme  tip  of  its  black  nostrils,  a  superstitious  propitiation, 
after  which  he  safely  stows  the  valuable  carcass  away  under 
the  cover  of  his  canoe. 

The  signal  for  forming  the  line  of  search  anew  is  now 
%iven,  the  canoes  fall  back  into  position,  and  the  hunt  is 
resumed  again  as  it  began,  and  as  long  as  daylight  lasts  the 
chase  is  kept  up. 

When  evening  shadows  warn  the  hunters  that  they  can 
no  longer  keep  their  bearings,  they  put  ashore  on  the  nearest 
beach  or  rocky  islet.  Drawing  their  canoes  out  from  the 
water,  and  turning  these  little  vessels  keel  up,  they  crawl 
partly  under,  so  as  to  shelter  head  and  shoulders,  as  they 


HUNTING   THE   SEA-OTTER.  63 

sleep  on  the  sand  or  rocks,  after  a  brief  and  scant  repast 
composed  chiefly  of  dried  fish. 

If  the  wind  is  stirring  in  the  right  direction,  a  fire  is  made ; 
a  little  cea  and  a  flour-thickened  stew  make  a  royal  supper 
for  these  hardy  men.  Most  of  the  time,  however,  it  is  not 
considered  safe  to  make  a  fire,  and  then  every  physical  comfort 
is  sacrificed  cheerfully  by  them  for  the  sake  of  success  in  their 
quest  of  the  otter. 

When  the  weather  is  settled,  the  hunting  fleets  often  cruise 
out  into  the  ocean  forty  and  sixty  miles  from  the  nearest  land, 


searching  for  the  otter  as  it  is  found  sleeping  or  sporting  on  the 
immense  rafts  of  seaweed,  which  are  drifting  at  the  beck  of 
currents  and  force  of  winds.  Upon  such  floating  masses  the 
sea-otters  love  to  sleep  and  the  young  ones  to  frolic  when  the 
sea  is  not  tempest-tossed.  Taking  advantage  of  this  disposi- 
tion of  the  otter,  the  natives  of  several  Aleutian  islands  spread 
gill-nets  over  beds  of  seaweed,  which  are  anchored  in  the 
channels  or  passages  between  the  islands.  They  retire  and 
watch  from  the  high  bluffs  adjacent. 

The  otters,  if  they  chance  to  climb  over  such  a  net-spread 
mass  of  seaweed,  speedily  become  entangled  in  the  meshes, 


64  HUNTING   THE    SEA-OTTKR. 

and  seeming  to  be  utterly  paralyzed  by  fear,  make  no  serious 
effort  to  escape,  and  thus  fall  easily  into  the  hands  of  their 
human  captors. 

A  strange  fact  in  connection  with  the  use  of  nets  is  that, 
although  they  are  made  of  light  twine  or  sinews,  and  a 
sea-otter  having  poked  its  head  or  thrust  its  feet  into  the 
meshes  might  easily  bite  and  tear  itself  free,  it  seems  to  be 
suddenly  crushed  by  fear  and  makes  no  such  attempt. 

The  natives  also  watch  for  particular  surf-holes  or  water- 
worn  caves  in  the  bluffs  to  which  the  otter  repairs,  and  when 
one  is  located  they  set  a  net  at  the  entrance  and  often  capture 
the  animal. 

Since  Alaska  became  American  territory  the  practice  of 
shooting  sea-otter  has  become  very  general.  It  was  prohibited 
by  the  Russians  because  it  is  sure  to  result,  if  not  so  checked, 
in  exterminating  this  curious,  rare  and  valuable  animal.  The 
young  natives  to-day,  however,  have  nearly  all  been  supplied 
with  breech-loading  weapons,  or  plain  rifles,  with  which  they 
patrol  the  shores  of  the  islands  and  islets,  and  whenever  a 
sea-otter's  black  head  is  seen  in  the  surf,  a  thousand  yards  at 
sea,  they  fire  at  it. 

The  great  distance  and  the  noise  of  the  breakers  prevent 
this  animal  from  taking  alarm  until  it  is  hit ;  and  nine  times 
out  of  ten,  when  it  is  shot,  it  is  hit  in  the  head,  and  that  is 
fatal ;  then  the  hunter  waits  for  the  toss  of  the  surf  to  bring 
his  prize  in,  if  it  be  too  rough  for  him  to  venture  out  in  his 
canoe. 

HENRY  W.  ELLIOTT 


AMONG   THE    ROCKIES. 


ill 


The  Bighorn  Canon. 


The  Bighorn  Canon. 

Though  the  Bighorn  Canon  is  located  within  sixty  miles 
of  Fort  Custer,  in  Montana,  where  I  am  writing,  I  can  find 
no  one  who  has  ever  been  through  it.  Some  men  have  been 
in  it,  but  did  not  stay  long,  and  only  a  few  have  traversed  it 
for  as  much  as  twenty  miles. 

The  only  man  I  ever  met  on  these  plains  who  could  give 
a  good  account  of  the  great  canon  was  Lieut.  George  P. 
Belden,  the  celebrated  trapper,  guide  and  scout,  who  died 
some  years  ago.  Even  old  and  thoroughly  travelled  scouts 
and  hunters  have  had  to  acknowledge  that  they  knew  nothing 
about  the  Bighorn  Canon. 

Belden  often  told  me  about  it,  and  said  he  had  been  from 
its  mouth  to  the  top,  and  once  had  spent  a  portion  of  the 
winter  beneath  the  friendly  shelter  of  its  mighty  walls. 
Belden  left  some  notes  in  a  book  giving  a  partial  account 
of  the  sunken  plain,  as  he  called  it. 

"  We  had  been  toiling  up,  up,  all  day  long,"  says  Belden 
in  these  notes,  "and  at  night  looked  far  back  and  below  us 
to  the  Chetish  or  Wolf  Mountains.  They  were  to  the  north, 
and  fully  forty  miles  distant.  They  loomed  up  from  the 
plain,  low,  broad,  black  and  flat,  and  we  could  see  that  they 
had  no  connection  at  any  point  with  the  giant  Bighorn 
Range.  West  of  us  was  the  Bighorn  Valley  proper. 

' '  Wishing  to  strike  the  Bighorn  Canon  at  its  mouth  and 
go  up  it  to  its  head,  I  told  our  Indian  guide  so  to  lead  as  to 
bring  us  to  the  canon  at  its  junction  with  the  river. 

"  Early  the  next  morning  we  set  out  nearly  due  westward. 
Our  Indian  guide,  although  a  Crow,  and  born  in  the  country, 
had  great  difficulty  in  locating  the  canon,  so  broken  and 
uneven  was  the  land.  At  last  he  pointed  to  some  pines  on 
a  distant  hilltop,  and  calling  out,  '  There !  there !  '  rode 
smartly  forward. 


68  THE    BIGHORN    CANON. 

"  At  the  foot  of  the  mountain  below  the  pines  we  found  an 
old  trail,  almost  obliterated  from  long  disuse.  Taking  this 
the  guide  galloped  swiftly  forward. 

*  *  In  about  an  hour  he  stopped  on  the  brink  of  a 
deep  ravine,  and  told  us  that  this  was  the  great  canon. 
Dismounting,  and  going  forward  on  foot,  I  looked  over  a  wall 
of  rock  hundreds  of  feet  high.  The  Indian  said  that  a  mile 
below  was  a  trail  leading  down  into  the  canon,  and  that  we 
could  descend  if  we  wished.  He  said  it  was  twenty  miles  or 
more  to  the  mouth  of  the  canon,  and  the  descent  was  more 
difficult  there  than  by  the  trail  just  below  us. 

"  I  told  him  to  go  ahead,  and  we  would  enter  the  valley 
at  once. 

"  After  rolling,  jerking,  sliding  and  tumbling,  as  it  were, 
down  the  side  of  the  canon  we  suddenly  found  ourselves  in  a 
little  valley,  from  which  the  light  was  almost  excluded  by  the 
black  walls  of  rock. 

"  There  was  a  bright  streak  of  sunshine  along  the  centre 
of  the  valley,  and  a  stream  rippled  by.  The  tall  pines  sighed 
mournfully  in  the  light  breeze.  Not  even  the  tops  of  the 
tallest  trees  ascended  as  high  as  the  top  of  the  canon.  They 
were  extremely  tall,  for  they  had  been  sheltered  from  the 
storms  that  had  twisted  and  dwarfed  their  less  fortunate 
neighbors  on  the  prairie  above. 

"  The  little  stream  was  filled  with  mountain  trout.  They 
were  of  the  mountain  brook  species,  and  we  could  see  their 
golden  bars  flash  as  they  darted  through  the  crystal  waters. 

"Up  the  stream  was  a  herd  of  a  dozen  elk,  and  below, 
almost  within  rifle-shot,  two  black-tailed  deer  browsed. 
There  were  many  kinds  of  birds,  and  the  cawing  of  hundreds 
of  crows  could  be  heard  up  the  stream  where  the  timber  was 
thickest. 

"  When  the  sounds  of  the  birds,  the  brook  and  the  trees 
ceased,  the  silence  was  intense.  The  valley  seemed  cut  off 
from  the  rest  of  the  world. 

'  (  One  has  strange  feelings  in  such  a  place  ;  and  I  was  not 


THE    BIGHORN    CANON.  69 

sorry  when  the  Indian,  who  had  been  creeping  down  the 
valley  toward  the  deer,  fired  a  shot  and  killed  the  buck. 
The  noise  of  his  gun  seemed  almost  as  loud  as  a  cannon, 
and  as  the  echoes  reverberated  far  up  and  down  the  valley, 
the  birds  rose  screaming  in  the  air,  and  circled  far  above  us. 

' '  Supping  on  trout  and  deer  meat,  we  passed  the  night  by 
the  side  of  the  stream. 

"Next  morning,  wishing  to  hunt,  I  set  out  with  a 
companion,  our  rifles  on  our  shoulders,  leaving  the  guide 
and  scout  to  pack  and  follow  with  the  camp  at  their  leisure. 

"As  we  trudged  along,  many  prairie-hens  flew  up.  The 
whirring  of  their  wings  and  the  loud  call  of  the  old  cocks 
attracted  the  attention  of  a  fine  buck.  On  seeing  us,  he 
stooped  low,  and  creeping  away,  hid  in  the  nearest  bunch 
of  pines.  He  seemed  to  suppose  that  we  had  not  seen  him  ; 
and  Dan,  my  companion,  laughed  outright  to  see  him  tiptoe 
into  the  wood. 

"A  mile  farther  up,  as  we  turned  a  sharp  angle  of  the 
high  wall  on  our  right,  we  saw  a  band  of  over  one  hundred 
elk  grazing  within  easy  rifle-range.  The  leader  threw  up  his 
head,  whistled  danger,  and  started  up  the  valley. 

"The  excitement  was  too  much  for  old  Dan.  Bringing 
his  gun  to  his  shoulder  he  fired,  and  the  leader  fell,  shot 
through  both  fore-shoulders. 

' '  The  herd  halted  when  the  leader  fell  and  gathered  about 
him.  None  except  the  wounded  buck  had  yet  seen  us. 
They  looked  everywhere  about  in  a  frightened  way,  but  we 
had  hidden  among  the  rocks.  Finally  they  started  up  the 
valley  again.  It  was  a  beautiful  sight.  Nothing  but  a  mass 
of  horns,  tips  of  ears  and  flying  feet  could  be  seen  as  they 
moved  in  a  compact  mass.  The  noise  of  their  hoofs  and 
the  glint  of  their  red  necks  reminded  us  of  a  flight  of  birds 
more  than  of  animals. 

' '  The  Indian  guide  said  the  true  name  of  this  canon  was 
Elk  Canon,  and  that  elk  were  always  to  be  found  there  in 
great  numbers,  not  only  on  account  of  the  fine  shelter  it 


THE    BIGHORN    CANON. 


afforded,  but  of  the  warmth  and  good  grass  and  water.  After 
looking  at  the  buck,  now  quite  dead,  and  taking  his  hump 
and  tongue,  we  pushed  on  up  the  valley  in  the  rear  of  the  elk. 
*  *  We  soon  began  to  notice  that  both  the  canon  and  the 
stream  were  becoming  narrower  rapidly.  The  stream  was  a 
mere  rivulet,  but  still  well  stocked  with  red  speckled  trout. 
The  valley  was  so  narrow  that  no  animal  could  pass  up  or 
down  without  coming  in  close  rifle-range.  The  wall  rock 
on  either  hand  became  higher  and  higher.  Little  springs  from 

the  side  flowed  in  and  bub- 
bled up  from  the  base  of 
the  high  walls.  Pockets, 
meadows,  thickets  and  ra- 
vines increased  in  numbers, 
and  the  great  hanging  walls 
above  our  heads  closed  until 
the  daylight  was  almost 
excluded.  Deer  were  very 
abundant,  but  all  other 
game  had  disappeared. 

' '  Selecting  one  of  the 
widest  of  the  little  pockets 
or  side  valleys,  we  began  to 
climb  a  deer  trail  leading 
up  the  mountainside. 

' '  Since  we  left  camp  we 
had  travelled  due  east,  and 
now  we  went  up  the  south  side  of  the  wall,  and  soon  found 
ourselves  in  the  wildest  of  scenery. 

"On  our  right  was  the  snow  range,  with  glistening  tops 
flashing  like  polished  silver.  The  valley  had  been  very 
warm,  but  the  change  to  a  colder  temperature  was  perceptible 
at  an  elevation  of  five  hundred  feet.  We  were  going  out  of 
summer  into  winter,  and  all  within  a  mile  or  two. 

"The  air  became  so  thin  that  one  could  not  run  at  all, 
and  every  few  hundred  steps  our  breath  gave  out,  and  a 


The   Narrow  Valley. 


THE    BIGHORN   CANON.  7 1 

short  rest  was  necessary.  We  were  entering  the  confines  of 
perpetual  winter. 

"Working  forward  over  the  snow  line,  we  found  the 
stunted  old  pine-trees  becoming  more  and  more  gnarled, 
and  most  of  them  dead  or  dying.  Here  and  there,  in  the 
crevice  of  a  rock,  we  found  a  bush  growing  which  bore 
brown  berries  that  were  sweet  to  the  taste  and  not  unpleasant 
eating. 

' '  Here  and  there  little  red  and  striped  chipmunks  frisked 
about,  and  shot  in  and  out  of  the  rocks.  They  seemed  larger 
than  the  chipmunks  of  the  East,'  but  were  evidently  the  same 
animal.  We  also  saw  several  large  rock-rats,  or  mountain 
squirrels,  which  inhabit  these  high  regions.  Some  of  them 
were  as  large  as  small  prairie-dogs,  and  were  like  them 
except  in  their  movements. 

"These  animals  are  sluggish,  and  shooting  at  them  does 
not  seem  to  alarm  them  in  the  least.  They  drag  themselves 
lazily  in  and  out  of  their  holes  and  act  as  if  they  were  deaf. 

"Above  the  ground- vines  rise  ranges  of  granite  rock, 
gray,  pink  and  brown,  with  veins  of  delicate  purple  and  blue 
running  through  them.  There  is  a  rose-colored  granite  on 
these  mountains  that  takes  a  high  polish  and  is  very  beautiful. 
I  saw  an  almost  jet  black  marble,  the  finest  stone  I  had  ever 
seen,  and  there  is  much  white  marble. 

' '  From  the  top  of  these  granite  walls  the  snow  extended 
over  the  mountain,  hiding  everything  above  from  view. 

"  Standing  at  the  foot  of  the  great  granite  walls,  our  feet 
pressing  the  snows  of  many  winters,  our  teeth  chattering  in 
the  cold  mountain  air,  we  looked  far  down  below  us  to 
see  the  Black  Canon  with  its  green  trees,  grassy  valley 
and  sparkling  stream,  which  looked  like  a  tiny  thread  of 
silver. 

4 '  With  my  glass  I  could  see  wild  sheep  on  the  opposite 
hills,  and  far  down  the  canon  a  band  of  deer  playing  at  hide- 
and-seek  as  they  dashed  in  and  out  of  the  little  thickets. 

"I    had   been    at   the    snow-line    before,  but   never  at  so 


72  THE   BIGHORN    CANON. 

interesting  a  place  as  the  Black  Canon.  Finding  the  night 
coming  on  we  began  our  downward  course. 

"About  half-way  down  the  mountainside,  as  we  came 
out  from  among  a  group  of  pines,  we  noticed  a  large  mound, 
upon  which  sparkled  millions  of  bright  little  objects,  having 
the  appearance  of  bits  of  broken  window-glass.  The  mound, 
we  found  upon  approaching  it,  was  a  bed  of  gypsum  ;  the 
thin  scales  and  large  slabs  gave  it  the  appearance  of  a  huge 
jewel  set  in  the  mountainside. 

"Down,  down  we  went,  almost  an  hour  and  a  half,  and 
then  we  came  out  into  the  little  valley  once  more,  and  found 
our  escort  awaiting  us.  The  sun  was  still  shining  on  the 
hills,  and  we  determined  to  go  up  the  canon  a  little  way  and 
camp  for  the  night. 

"  An  hour's  march  brought  us  to  the  head  of  the  stream 
and  some  fine  springs.  Here,  the  guide  informed  us,  we 
must  stop  or  go  a  long  way  to  water.  We  accordingly 
encamped,  and  after  a  good  supper  went  out  and  gathered 
bearberry  leaves,  to  mix  with  our  tobacco. 

"We  found  many  curious  colored  pebbles,  some  agates 
and  several  other  stones  of  value. 

"  We  had  explored  only  twenty  miles  of  the  middle 
portion  of  the  great  canon,  and  in  the  morning  determined 
to  climb  out  and  go  over  to  Bear  Canon  of  the  Bighorn  to 
hunt  for  grizzlies." 

This  is  the  only  description  of  the  Black  Canon  of  the  Big- 
horn that  I  have  ever  seen.  It  is  meagre  and  unsatisfactory, 
but  I  hope  to  explore,  map  and  photograph  the  entire  region. 

GEN.  JAMES  S.  BRISBIN. 


Hunting  Elk  on  Skees. 

Of  all  the  pleasures  which  have  fallen  to  the  lot  of  an 
amateur  photographer  with  a  taste  for  wild  life  and  the 
making  of  pictures  of  big  game  in  its  native  state,  probably 
the  keenest  befell  a  young  amateur  whom  we  may  call  James 
Brackett,  for  want  of  authority  to  use  his  real  name. 

Being  in  the  Flathead  country,  in  Montana,  he  was  invited 
to  join  a  party  of  hunters  who  were  going  out  into  the  Rocky 
Mountains  to  take  live  elk  with  lasso  and  skees.  He  accepted 
the  invitation  ;  he  had  been  accustomed  to  travel  on  skees  in 
taking  winter  views.  But  instead  of  a  lasso  he  himself  carried 
his  camera  and  a  large  revolver  for  emergencies. 

At  Columbia  Falls,  Montana,  north  of  Flathead  I,ake, 
young  Brackett  joined  the  two  hunters.  They  camped  in 
the  hills  and  started  out  before  daybreak  up  the  mountain. 
There  was  to  be  a  long  ascent  before  the  sport  began,  for  the 
skee-hunters  can  take  their  game  in  this  way  only  when  they 
have  the  advantage  of  descent  upon  them. 

The  skees  used  by  the  party  were  made  of  birch,  and  were 
eight  feet  long,  four  inches  wide,  and  about  half  an  inch 
thick.  They  were  strapped  to  the  feet,  and  the  front  ends 
were  slightly  curved  upward. 

The  two  hunters  carried  no  rifles.  Each  had  at  his  belt  a 
strong  lasso,  sixty  feet  long,  and  a  hand-axe,  or  large  and 
very  sharp  hatchet.  Their  hunting  was  to  include  no 
slaughter,  and  they  needed  no  weapons  except  revolvers  and 
knives,  for  use  in  case  of  chance  unsought  encounters  with 
pumas  or  bears.  They  carried  also  a  liberal  lunch. 

Though  he  knew  how  to  walk  on  skees,  Brackett  found 
the  ascent  of  the  mountain  on  them,  over  the  deep  snow,  an 
extremely  hard  task,  especially  when  he  had  to  keep  pace 
with  these  practised  and  hardened  hunters.  Two  or  three 
times  he  was  on  the  point  of  giving  it  up,  but  the  hunters 


74 


HUNTING   EI,K   ON 


good-naturedly  paused  to  let  him  get  his  breath,  though  they 
had  no  time  to  lose. 

Toward  noon  the  hunters  declared  that  they  had  ascended 
far  enough.  They  had  already  found  signs  of  elk,  and  knew 
where  to  look  for  them  on  their  descent.  Here  they  lunched, 
saving  some  of  their  food  for  the  unlucky  emergency  of  a 
failure  to  get  back  to  camp  for  the  night.  Then  the  rapid 
descent  was  begun.  The  hunters'  eyes  commanded  a  great 

sweep  of  the  mountainside, 
nor  did  they  neglect  the 
details  of  thickets  and 
ledges.  It  was  a  wild  and 
craggy  spot — precisely  the 
ground  which  the  Rocky 
Mountain  elk  seems  to 
enjoy. 

As  the  three  men  were 
swiftly  but  watchfully  de- 
scending on  their  skees, 
Brackett  finding  it  quite 
easy  now  to  keep  up  with 
the  hunters,  the  latter 
paused,  put  their  fingers 
to  their  hips  and  loosened 
their  lassos.  It  was  evident 
that  they  had  caught  sight 
or  wind  of  game.  Brackett 

Skees.  1  •     •  -L 

saw  no  living  creature,  but 

he  nevertheless  unlimbered  his  camera.  Before  them  lay  a 
sharp  and  smooth  declivity,  glittering  under  the  midday  sun. 
Here  and  there  rocks  cropped  up,  but  for  the  most  part  the 
space  was  clear.  All  at  once,  far  below,  Brackett  saw  an 
animal  shoot  out  into  view  from  behind  a  crag,  apparently, 
though  the  creature  had  all  the  time  been  in  front  of  the 
crag.  The  unpractised  eye  of  the  photographer  had  not  made 
him  out,  so  closely  did  the  yellowish-brown  of  the  elk's  body 


HUNTING   ELK   ON   SKEES. 


75 


and  the  white  of  his  rump  approximate  the  color  of  the  rock 
and  snow. 

"Goodness!"  Brackett  could  not  help  exclaiming, 
"  you're  not  going  to  try  to  get  game  so  far  away  as  that  ?  " 

For  answer  the  two  hunters  shot  down  the  mountain,  their 
lasso  coils  held  in  their  left  hands,  the  noose  in  their  right  — 
both  hands  in  front  of  them,  their  knees  and  bodies  gracefully 
bent.     They  presented  so  fine  a  sight  that   Brackett  took  a 
shot  at  them  on  the  spot ;  and  by  the  time  he  had  closed  his 
camera  and  was  ready  to  start  after  them,  they  seemed  to  be 
half  a  mile  down  the  mountain !     He  gave  up  all  attempt  to 
overtake  them  or  to  get  a  shot 
at  their  operations  with  the  elk, 
but  contented  himself  with  the 
picture  he  had  already  taken  of 
their  seeming  drop  into  space, 
and  with  keeping  them  in  view. 

Meantime  the  elk  was  off  in 
a  series  of  tremendous  bounds  ; 
but  his  course  lay  almost  later- 
ally along  the  side  of  the  moun- 
tain, while  the  two  hunters, 
going  at  a  speed  which  could 
hardly  be  less  than  his,  were 
heading  him  off  by  a  flanking 
movement.  Kvery  second 
brought  them  nearer  together.  At  last  the  elk,  which 
Brackett  thought  was  the  largest  horned  animal  he  had  ever 
seen,  seemed  to  realize  that  he  was  being  headed  off. 

He  turned  sharply  and  plunged  straight  down  the  moun- 
tainside. Brackett  heard  the  two  hunters  shout  to  each 
other ;  they  swerved  apart  in  such  a  way  that  the  plunging 
animal  appeared  between  them  in  Brackett's  line  of  vision. 
Then  he  dropped  quite  out  of  sight  over  a  ledge,  beyond 
which  Brackett  saw  nothing  but  blue  sky. 

The   two   hunters   plunged   straight   on,   and   the   young 


Elk. 


76 


HUNTING   ELK   ON   SKKKS. 


photographer  gasped,  for  it  seemed  to  him  that  they  were 
whirling  to  certain  death  over  a  precipice.  But  meantime  he 
was  himself  advancing  at  an  extremely  swift  rate  of  speed  ; 
and  his  path  presently  brought  into  view  a  bench  of  the 
mountain  below  the  ledge. 

Over  it  the  two  men  went.  The  elk  came  into  view  again, 
plunging  heavily  in  deep  snow.  The  hunters,  one  on  each 
side,  came  up  with  him.  Without  a  word  or  sound,  the  man 
on  the  right  cast  his  lasso ;  it  fell  over  the  great  animal's 
horns,  and  was  instantly  drawn  taut. 

And  now  began  a  strange  chase,  comparable  to  that  of  a 
whale  at  sea  into  which  a  harpoon  has  been  thrown.  The 


Capturing  an   Elk. 

second  man  could  have  thrown  a  lasso  from  the  other  side,  but 
both  men  could  not  possibly  have  held  the  elk  on  this  descent, 
which  presented  neither  tree  nor  jutting  crag,  and  where  now 
the  creature  seemed  to  have  found  firmer  foothold.  Away  he 
went,  still  down  the  mountain  ;  the  man  who  had  roped  him 
clung  to  the  line,  allowing  himself  to  be  drawn,  the  snow 
flying  from  his  skees.  The  other  man  made  his  best  speed, 
but  was  being  left  behind. 

The  elk  was  plainly  headed  for  a  thicket  of  pines  some 
distance  below.  He  followed  his  instinct  in  this,  and  he  also 
did  the  worst  possible  thing  for  himself.  It  was  what  the  two 


HUNTING   EI.K   ON   SKKKS. 


77 


hunters  most  desired.  On  he  went,  and  in  less  than  a  minute 
had  plunged  among  the  trees,  and  in  an  instant  more  was 
struggling  in  the  snow,  for  the  hunter  had  snubbed  his  line 
around  a  tree  and  had  the  creature  fast.  He  might,  however, 
have  inflicted  some  injury  upon  himself  if  the  other  hunter, 
coming  up,  had  not  thrown  his  lasso  from  the  other  side  and 
snubbed  him  to  another  tree.  He  was  now  completely  at  the 
mercy  of  the  men. 

Brackett  came  up  and  with  his  camera  took  a  shot  at  the 
elk,  which  had  given  up  its  struggles.  The  hunt  was  over  for 
the  day,  for  it  was  necessary  to  go  down  to  the  camp  and  bring 
up  the  dog-sledge,  on  which  to  transport  the  captured  elk  to 
Columbia  Falls.  Brackett  and  one  of  the  hunters  remained 
on  guard  to  protect  the  elk,  now  bound  firmly  with  one  of  the 
ropes,  from  the  visits  of  unscrupulous  wolves  and  pumas,  which 
would  not  have  hesitated  to  take  advantage  of  his  situation  if 
he  had  been  left  alone.  The  elk  turned  out  to  weigh  nine 
hundred  pounds,  and  was  the  most  magnificent  specimen  taken 
for  several  years. 

Brackett  remained  two  weeks  with  the  hunters.  In  that 
time  they  took  but  two  more  elk  —  for  they  had  had 
remarkably  good  luck  to  come  upon  their  game  so  soon  and 
so  successfully  on  the  first  day.  All  of  their  captives  were 
taken  to  the  ranch  of  a  gentleman  farther  down  the  mountain, 
who  'has  fenced  in  a  considerable  space  for  the  purpose  of 
testing  the  question  whether  the  elk  cannot  be  domesticated 
and  made  to  draw  loads,  as  the  reindeer  does.  This  gentleman 
already  has  a  well-broken  elk  team,  which  he  has  driven 
about  quite  freely. 

The  animals  in  his  possession  appear  perfectly  tame  and 
gentle.  Whether  or  not  the  American  elk  has  any  value  for 
draught  purposes  remains,  however,  still  to  be  proved. 

SHERWOOD  DAVIS. 


Visiting  the  Yellowstone  Park. 

The  Yellowstone  Park,  larger  than  the  State  of  Connecticut, 
contains,  perhaps,  more  natural  wonders  than  any  other  tract 
of  equal  area  :  the  exquisite  deposits  of  the  boiling  springs ; 
the  geysers,  spouting  water  two  hundred  feet  in  the  air ;  the 
canon,  most  beautiful  and  grand  ;  the  many  waterfalls  of  rare 
loveliness ;  the  immense  lake  of  unfathomed  depth,  eight 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  surrounded  by  mountain-peaks 
covered  with  perpetual  snow.  But  one  should  not  suppose, 
as  some  people  do,  that  it  is  wholly  a  land  of  marvels,  for  it 
presents  many  spaces  of  the  most  quiet  and  lovely  scenery. 

It  is  seldom  possible  to  enter  the  park  before  the  first  of 
June.  In  1893  the  lake  ice  did  not  break  up  until  the 
nineteenth  of  that  month,  and  wheeled  vehicles  could  not  pass 
from  the  Upper  Basin  to  the  lake  until  the  twenty-second. 
This  was  a  very  late  season,  but  such  may  occur  again. 

In  July  there  are  flies,  gnats  and  mosquitoes, —  great 
nuisances,  to  be  sure, —  but  the  nights  are  cold  and  the  insects 
vanish  early  in  the  evening,  while  many  other  conditions  are 
favorable.  The  earth  is  then  covered  with  lovely  wild  flowers  ; 
the  watercourses  are  running  full,  and  their  falls  are  at  their 
best ;  the  fishing  is  then  extraordinarily  good. 

In  August  the  mosquitoes  and  their  kin  have  disappeared, 
and  there  are  no  troublesome  rains  ;  but  the  lovely  flowers  are 
then  no  longer  at  their  best ;  dust  has  replaced  mud,  and  the 
fish  are  not  so  eager  to  take  the  fly. 

September  presents  a  constantly  lessening  list  of  attractions  ; 
fewer  flowers,  less  water  in  the  streams,  fewer  fish,  less  chance 
of  seeing  large  game,  more  dust  and  colder  nights.  Moreover, 
the  summer  travellers  have  then  littered  the  favored  camping 
spots  with  their  unsightly  leavings. 

July,  then,  is  the  best  month,  but  a  start  the  last  of  June 


VISITING   THE   YELLOWSTONE   PARK.  79 

would  be  advantageous,  particularly  if  the  season  opened 
early. 

A  proper  outfit  of  clothing  is  highly  important.  As  the 
days  are  generally  hot  and  the  nights  very  cold,  thick  under- 
flannels  are  recommended.  No  overcoat  is  needed  except  a 
mackintosh,  which  is  very  desirable.  Brown  or  drab  clothing 
is  most  satisfactory. 

As  to  the  length  of  time  and  the  amount  of  money  required 
for  the  visit,  that  depends  on  whether  the  party  means  to 
glance  at  the  tract  or  see  it  thoroughly.  Cinnabar,  the 
terminus  of  a  branch  of  the  National  Park  Railroad,  is  the 
point  of  entrance  to  the  park. 

Regular  tourists  who  put  up  at  the  park  hotels  spend  six 
days  in  the  tour.  A  camping  trip  might  be  made  in  that 
time,  but  a  month  can  be  profitably  devoted  to  it.  The 
regular  circuit  could  be  made  slowly  and  on  horseback  in 
about  twelve  days  ;  then  there  would  be  side  trips  off  the  main 
roads,  fishing  excursions  and  numerous  desirable  delays  that 
would  well  occupy  the  entire  month. 

The  details  of  the  trip  must  of  course  depend  on  the  time 
allotted  to  it.  A  week  used  in  going  down  to  Jackson's  Lake, 
and  a  week  or  ten  days  in  a  visit  to  the  wonderful  hoodoo 
country,  would  amply  repay  for  the  time  and  money  spent. 

Hunting  trips  are  often  outfitted  here,  but  all  the  hunting 
must  be  done  outside  the  park.  The  thorough  protection  of 
the  game  within  the  park  has  made  it  a  reservoir  from  which 
all  the  surrounding  country  has  been  fed,  so  that  now  this 
region  is  the  best  hunting-ground  in  America. 

GEORGE  S.  ANDERSON,  U.  S.  A. 


In  the   Yellowstone   Park. 

When  you  go  to  the  Yellowstone  Park,  certain  notices 
giving  forcible  hints  as  to  your  conduct  will  present  themselves 
to  your  eye  from  sign-boards  nailed  to  the  trees.  They  are  of 

this  sort : 

EXTINGUISH  YOUR  FIRES. 

No  SHOOTING. 

GATHER  No  SPECIMENS. 

Do  NOT  DEFACE  THE  FORMATIONS. 

These  are  all  very  proper  and  necessary  ;  and  the  penalty 
for  disobedience  may  be  a  dusty  walk  out  of  the  park,  with  a 
soldier  behind  you.  It  may  involve  the  confiscation  of  your 
luggage,  or  even  heavy  fines  and  imprisonment  if  the  offence 
is  a  grave  one.  No  shooting  is  allowed,  except  in  defence  of 
one's  life,  and  as  a  consequence  of  this  wise  restriction  game 
in  the  National  Park  is  becoming  not  only  delightfully  plenty, 
but  unusually  tame. 

The  ducks  sit,  quacking  quietly,  in  the  little  lakes,  as  the 
stage-coaches  rattle  close  past  them.  Squirrels  actually  have 
been  known  to  run  up  men's  trousers'  legs,  and  deer  are 
increasing  in  numbers.  It  is  said  that  the  herd  of  two 
hundred  buffalo  about  the  Yellowstone  Lake  show  signs  of 
increased  confidence  in  man. 

Unusual  vigilance  will  be  practised  by  the  park  superin- 
tendent to  protect  this  bison  herd,  and  if  nature  would  but 
kindly  endow  the  poor  beasts  with  instinct  to  remain  in  the 
park,  this  last  remnant  of  a  once  mighty  race  might  survive 
here  for  centuries,  to  remind  future  generations  of  the 
countless  herds  which  once  roamed  over  the  entire  West. 

Another  and  less  pleasing  result  of  prohibition  of  shooting 
is  the  multiplication  of  bears.  Black  bears,  silver- tip  bears, 
cinnamon  bears  and  roach-back  bears  are  found  in  the  park 


IN   THE   YELLOWSTONE    PARK. 


81 


in  greatly  increased  numbers,  and  some  shooting  may  have  to 
be  done  to  keep  these  creatures  within  proper  limits. 

This  wise  protection  of  life  makes  the  park  a  paradise  for 
the  smaller  birds  which  naturally  inhabit  such  regions.  The 
beautiful  valley  of  the  Yellowstone  may  become  the  happy 


The  Yellowstone  Valley. 


refuge  of  the  songsters  which  the  ruthless  fowlers  have  driven 
to  the  companionship  of  the  bison. 

One  privilege  is  granted  to  the  sportsman.  He  may  find 
as  satisfactory  fishing  in  the  park  as  in  any  other  region 
frequented  by  tourists.  A  hundred  pounds  of  trout  a  day  is 
no  unusual  catch  for  a  single  rod.  That  unusual  fish,  the 
grayling,  is  also  found  in  the  park,  in  the  Madison  River. 


82  IN   THE   YELLOWSTONE    PARK. 

But  another  prohibition  is  necessary,  and  tourists  may 
some  time  find  a  strange  notice  like  this : 

Do  NOT  SOAP  THE  GEYSERS. 

To  soap  a  geyser  is  a  very  naughty  act ;  and  for  that 
reason,  perhaps,  many  tourists  seem  strongly  tempted  to 
transgress  in  this  manner.  * 

An  alkali  dropped  into  the  bowl  of  a  geyser  will  frequently 
cause  it  to  act  at  once,  and  in  a  particularly  frantic  manner; 
and  as  certain  of  the  geysers  are  somewhat  tardy  in  exhibiting 
their  spouting  powers,  it  is  a  temptation  to  many  young 
people,  and  to  a  few  older  ones,  to  drop  a  cake  of  soap  into 
the  steaming  bowl.  Geysers,  like  human  beings,  have  a 
certain  quite  definitely  limited  lifetime.  They  do  not  go  on 
forever  by  any  means.  The  pipe,  or  tube  through  which  the 
hot  water  and  steam  are  ejected,  the  bowl,  the  caldron,  and 
the  steam-chambers  deep  underground,  have  a  well-marked 
period  of  growth  and  decline. 

The  apparatus,  by  means  of  deposits  from  the  hot  water, 
first  increases  in  symmetry,  form  and  efficiency  as  a  spouter ; 
then  it  gradually  falls  out  of  order  and  subsides  into  an 
inactive  hot  spring.  It  can  be  said  that  a  geyser  is  good  for 
only  a  limited  number  of  spouting  performances,  through  a 
certain  number  of  years,  or  decades. 

The  geysers  of  the  National  Park  vary  much  in  their  hours 
for  spouting.  Old  Faithful  spouts  every  hour,  with  great 
regularity,  and  will  probably  be  a  short-lived  geyser  compared 
with  the  Beehive,  which  discharges  once  in  twenty-four  hours  ; 
the  Giant,  which  is  in  action  once  in  four  days  ;  the  Giantess, 
which  only  favors  the  public  with  a  performance  once  a 
fortnight ;  the  L,ion,  which  rouses  into  activity  and  roars  after 
long,  uncertain  intervals ;  or  even  the  Splendid,  which  sends 
up  its  beautiful  column  of  steaming  water  and  spray  to  a 
height  of  two  hundred  feet  once  in  three  hours. 

Manifestly  it  is  in  the  interest  of  the  general  public  to  have 
these  grand  and  wonderful  exhibitions  of  subterranean  energy 


IN   THE   YELLOWSTONE    PARK.  83 

endure  as  long  as  possible.  It  should  not  be  beneath  the 
dignity  of  any  tourist  to  wait  patiently  the  normal  time  of  their 
grand  displays.  To  cause  a  geyser  to  burst  forth  suddenly 
by  artificial  means  is  to  shorten  its  life,  and  hence  to  prevent 
future  tourists  from  enjoying  it. 

But  many  inconsiderate  tourists  go  to  the  geysers  with 
cakes  of  soap  in  their  pockets.  Hence  the  government  has 
found  it  necessary  to  station  a  squad  of  soldiers  in  close 
proximity  to  the  geysers,  to  protect  them  from  the  sapo- 
naceously  inclined  sightseers. 

The  Beehive  Geyser  is  one  of  those  which  appear  to  be 
especially  sensitive  to  soap.  The  rogue  who  drops  soap  into 
the  Beehive  barely  has  time  to  retire  to  a  safe  distance  before 
the  performance  begins,  and  it  really  seems  as  if  the  spouting, 
foaming,  frothing  geyser  would  turn  itself  wrong  side  out  in 
its  efforts  to  be  rid  of  the  obnoxious  alkali. 

Our  party  of  eight  was  a  very  law-abiding  one.  We  had 
often  said  to  one  another  that  it  was  an  exceedingly  mean 
trick  to  put  soap  into  a  geyser,  or  to  attempt,  as  some  previous 
visitors  had  evidently  done,  to  stir  up  the  way-down  stomachs 
of  the  fountains  —  particularly  the  old,  retired  ones  —  with 
long  poles.  Such  vandalism  we  all  denounced  as  disgraceful. 

Nevertheless  a  strange  thing  happened.  On  the  front  seat 
of  our  stage-coach  rode  two  youths,  fresh  from  college. 

On  our  arrival  at  the  Upper  Basin  we  learned  that  the 
Beehive,  so  called  from  the  shape  of  its  cone,  would  not  spout 
until  the  following  morning,  and  the  Splendid  not  much 
before  nightfall.  But  after  watching  a  grand  performance  by 
Old  Faithful,  we  all  went  out  to  see  the  bowls  of  the  other 
geysers. 

In  the  course  of  our  walk,  we  crossed  the  little  Fire-Hole 
River,  and  after  examining  the  pretty,  hollow  cone  of  the 
Beehive,  went  up  to  the  L,ion  and  Cubs. 

Presently,  missing  our  two  young  friends,  we  looked  back 
and  saw  them  still  hanging  over  the  Beehive  cone,  apparently 
gazing  into  the  funnel  of  the  fountain. 


DO  NOT  SOf,P 
THE  CEY-StKS 


IN   THE   YELLOWSTONE    PARK.  85 

Within  less  than  a  minute  afterward  we  heard  a  shout,  and 
saw  our  young  fellow-tourists  running  away  ;  and  immediately 
the  Beehive  went  off,  favoring  us  with  a  tremendous  display. 

Jets  of  water  played  to  a  height  of  two  hundred  and  fifty 
feet.  The  roaring  and  frothing  were  frightful.  The  earth 
far  around  pulsated  and  trembled. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  the  geyser  would  burst  and  go 
to  pieces.  Its  extraordinary  upheaval  continued  for  some 
minutes. 

Meantime  a  considerable  crowd  collected,  and  two  soldiers 
came  hurrying  to  the  spot.  As  soon  as  the  eruption  had 
subsided  the  soldiers  examined  the  steaming  ground  about 
the  cone,  and  picked  up  several  pieces  of  pink  soap.  This 
circumstance,  joined  with  the  fact  that  the  Beehive  had 
spouted  out  of  season,  aroused  the  suspicions  of  the  military. 

They  made  inquiries  regarding  us,  and  ascertained  at  the 
hotel  that  five  or  six  cakes  of  pink  soap  had  disappeared  from 
as  many  rooms  since  the  arrival  of  our  coach. 

For  a  law-abiding  party  we  felt  extremely  uncomfortable. 
There  was  no  direct  or  positive  evidence  against  any  of  our 
number,  but  none  the  less  the  sergeant  in  charge  telegraphed 
the  matter  back  to  Mammoth  Hot  Springs.  He  appears  to 
have  mentioned  specially  our  two  friends  ;  for  on  our  return, 
three  days  later,  they  were  waited  01.  very  early  by  the  young 
lieutenant  in  command,  who  put  to  them  many  polite  but 
pointed  questions  as  to  their  knowledge  of  the  chemical  action 
and  reaction  of  alkalies. 

They  seemed  to  be  extremely  ignorant  upon  the  subject. 
The  lieutenant  marvelled,  but  as  there  was  no  positive 
evidence  against  the  young  men,  they  were  advised  to  read 
up  in  chemistry,  so  as  to  be  able  to  pass  a  better  examination 
the  next  time  they  came  to  the  park. 

C.  A.  STEPHENS. 


Rocky  Mountain  Burros. 

Stupid,  sleepy  and  slow-moving  as  he  is,  the  Rocky 
Mountain  donkey,  or  burro,  has  been  an  important  factor 
in  the  development  and  growth  of  many  mountainous  districts 
in  the  West. 

He  has  anticipated  the  service  of  the  railroad  train  and 
the  stage-coach  in  the  transportation  of  freight  and  supplies 
to  the  most  remote  mountain  camps.  He  is  one  of  the  most 
patient  and  faithful  of  all  beasts  of  burden,  although  he  is 
seldom  promoted  above  the  position  of  a  common  drudge. 

His  slowness  and  sureness  of  movement  enable  him  to  go 
up  and  over  the  loftiest  mountain  summits,  around  the 
sharpest,  rockiest  curves,  on  the  narrowest  of  trails.  He 
plods  sleepily  along  at  the  very  edge  of  the  most  frightful 
precipices  without  once  losing  his  head,  or  making  a  single 
misstep.  He  goes  fearlessly  along  where  his  bigger  brother, 
the  mule,  could  not  go,  and  where  his  other  relative,  the 
horse,  would  not  go  if  he  could. 

He  is  never  skittish,  his  temperament  is  too  phlegmatic 
for  that.  He  is  serenely  indifferent  to  the  things  that  affright 
the  soberest  horse. 

At  his  very  first  sight  of  a  locomotive  under  full  headway, 
the  donkey  might  prick  up  his  ears  slightly,  and  the  sleepy 
look  in  his  eyes  might  give  way  to  one  of  mild  curiosity  ;  but 
all  the  puffing  and  screeching  it  could  do  would  not  make 
him  run  away. 

But  this  calm  indifference  is,  I  fear,  more  the  result  of 
stupidity  than  of  courage. 

The  traveller  to  the  remote  mining  camps  of  the  West  is 
likely  to  meet  many  burro  trains  going  up  long,  steep  and 
winding  trails,  heavily  laden  with  merchandise  of  every  kind, 
or  coming  down  with  bags  of  ore  strapped  to  the  animals' 
backs. 


ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  BURROS. 


It  is  surprising  to  see  under  what  heavy  burdens  these 
little  creatures  can  plod  along.  I  have  seen  a  family  moving 
from  one  town  or  camp  to  another  with  all  of  their  household 
goods  on  the  back  of  a  single  burro,  and  these  effects  included 
a  small  cook-stove,  a  bedstead  and  bedding,  two  chairs,  a 
grindstone  and  frame,  and  many  pots,  kettles,  pans  and 


The  Stubborn   Burro. 

dishes.     At  the  top  of  this  prodigious  pile  was  a  baby,  snugly 
and  securely  fastened  to  the  mattress  of  the  bed. 

Thus  heavily  and  clumsily  burdened,  the  patient  little 
donkey  stepped  meekly  along,  seemingly  indifferent  to  the 
lowliness  of  his  estate,  or  quite  satisfied  with  it. 


88  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  BURROS. 

Nothing  but  actual  necessity  ever  induces  the  traveller,  or 
any  one  else,  to  ride  the  burro  from  one  place  to  another. 
The  little  animal's  usefulness  in  this  direction  is  greatly 
impaired  by  his  diminutive  size,  and  his  unalterable 
determination  never  to  go  faster  than  a  slow  walk. 

Indifferent  alike  to  blows,  kicks,  threats  and  pleadings, 
he  plods  slowly  along,  even  on  the  best  of  roads.  His  gait  is 
so  tedious  that  the  man  who  mounts  him  is  soon  glad  to 
dismount  and  go  farther  and  faster  on  his  own  legs. 

A  tall  man  makes  himself  especially  an  object  of  ridicule 
when  astride  a  burro.  His  feet  barely  escape  the  ground,  and 
he  is  likely  to  hear  many  amusing  but  mortifying  comparisons 
and  remarks. 

' '  How  do  you  find  the  walking  to-day  ?  "  is  the  ordinary 
satirical  salutation  to  a  long-legged  man  thus  mounted. 

Children,  however,  do  not  seem  at  all  out  of  place  on 
burro-back ;  and  some  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  boys  and 
girls,  with  plenty  of  time  for  such  modes  of  locomotion  and 
childhood's  capacity  for  enjoying  it,  find  great  pleasure  in 
riding  over  mountain  roads  or  the  streets  of  mountain  towns 
on  the  backs  of  these  queer,  stupidly  submissive  little 
animals. 

' '  Shaggy  ' '  was  the  name  given  to  a  very  small  burro 
which  was  something  of  an  anomaly  among  his  kind.  He 
was  very  black,  with  rough,  shaggy  hair  like  a  bear.  He 
was  fleet  of  foot,  tricky,  treacherous  and  unwilling  to  work. 

Shaggy  belonged  to  a  train  of  burros  used  in  carrying 
freight  to  a  mining  camp  fifty  miles  from  a  railroad.  He  did 
not  have  the  sleepy  eye  of  his  mates  ;  he  had  a  sly,  comical 
way  of  looking  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes,  and  his  driver 
declared  that  there  were  times  when  Shaggy  ' '  laughed  right 
out  loud." 

He  was  always  biting  or  kicking  some  of  his  mates,  shying 
from  the  road,  racing  madly  on  ahead,  or  lagging  lazily 
behind,  or  doing  something  else  to  bring  upon  himself  the 
lash  and  the  reproaches  of  his  master. 


ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  BURROS.  89 

He  made  so  much  trouble,  and  his  influence  on  the  rest 
of  the  train  was  so  demoralizing,  that  Shaggy  was  finally 
disowned  by  his  master,  and  turned  out  to  shift  for  himself 
in  one  of  the  gulches  through  which  the  train  was  passing. 

The  children  of  a  miner  living  in  the  gulch  adopted  this 
incorrigible  animal,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that,  under  their 
gentler  influences,  he  reformed  at  last. 

Docile  and  sluggish  as  he  commonly  is,  the  burro  rises  to 
great  heights  of  wrath  and  activity  when  engaged  in  battle 
with  one  of  his  own  kind.  Then  his  dull  eyes  flame,  his  ears 
lie  back,  all  his  shining  teeth  are  revealed,  his  hoofs  fly  out 
and  he  fights  valiantly. 

These  combats  do  not  often  occur,  however.  At  other 
times  the  burro  is  one  of  the  meekest  and  most  faithful  little 
burden-bearers  in  the  world. 

J.   H.  LEWIS. 


Chinese  Railway  Laborers. 

During  the  years  1880-84  the  activity  in  railway-building 
in  the  northern  part  of  the  Pacific  Slope  was  very  great. 
Besides  some  lesser  operations  in  Arizona,  the  Oregon  Short 
L,ine,  the  Northern  Pacific,  the  Oregon  California,  the 
Columbia  Division  of  the  Oregon  Railway  and  Navigation 
Company's  roads  and  the  Canadian  Pacific  were  all  under 
construction. 

There  was  great  lack  of  laborers,  and  resort  was  had  to  the 
Chinese,  without  whom,  indeed,  those  roads  could  never  have 
been  completed  in  the  time  and  with  the  cheapness  that  they 
were  built.  Not  only  were  coolies  picked  up  all  along  the 
coast,  but  they  came  in  immense  ship-loads  from  Canton, 
being  hurried  into  Portland  in  anticipation  of  a  prohibition 
by  Congress  of  their  further  coming. 

Most  of  these  coolies  were  spoken  for  before  their  arrival, 
and  were  at  once  sent  to  the  front  of  the  advancing  railways 
far  in  the  interior.  They  had  scarcely  time  to  recover  from 
their  seasickness  before  their  bewildered  hands  were  grasping 
the  strange  shovel  and  were  flinging  gravel,  without  any  idea 
what  it  all  meant. 

They  were  not  hired,  man  by  man,  by  their  real  employers, 
but  through  agents  of  their  own  race,  generally  prosperous 
merchants  in  the  seaports.  These  merchants  would  agree  to 
furnish  a  railway-builder  with  say  five  hundred  men,  at  so 
much  a  day  for  a  certain  number  of  months.  The  men  were 
paid  by  the  agent  the  whole  wages  offered,  about  twenty-six 
dollars  a  month,  in  1882,  about  one-half  the  wages  white  men 
of  the  same  grade  were  getting.  This  agent  made  his  profit 
in  the  transaction  wholly  out  of  the  supplies  his  clients  were 
compelled  to  buy  of  him  alone. 

This  system  divided  the  coolies  into  gangs  of  forty,  to  each 
of  which  were  attached  two  cooks  and  one  English-speaking 


CHINESE    RAILWAY   LABORERS.  ,91 

Chinese  as  spokesman  and  leader.  By  this  arrangement  the 
coolie  completely  lost  his  individuality,  and  formed  one  of  so 
many  units  to  be  furnished  by  a  merchant,  so  many  members 
in  a  gang  to  be  kept  track  of  by  the  timekeeper.  He  was  a 
nonentity,  and  the  most  isolated  and  friendless  being  in  the 
world. 

But  though  declined  as  associates,  and  held  in  a  contempt 
too  good-natured  to  be  scornful,  the  Chinese  were  not  at  that 
time  ill-treated  by  the  Irishmen  and  other  white  laborers  with 


The  Strange  Shovel. 

whom  they  worked.  There  were  no  demagogues  in  the  camps 
to  stir  up  feuds,  and  the  managers,  who  were  not  accustomed 
to  handling  affairs  with  gloves,  took  care  that  there  should  not 
be  meddlers  in  their  way.  If  a  man  didn't  choose  to  mind  his 
own  business  there,  he  was  compelled  to  do  it. 

Every  man  starting  inland  slung  over  his  shoulders,  from 
the  ends  of  a  long  stick,  in  baskets  of  split  bamboo  or  bundles 
of  grass  matting,  all  of  the  personal  baggage  he  could  get 


92  CHINESE   RAILWAY   LABORERS. 

through  the  custom-house,  and  took  it  into  the  woods  with 
him. 

On  arriving  at  the  scene  of  work,  the  coolies  would 
set  up  the  small  tents  given  them  by  the  railway  people, 
or  make  themselves  ingenious  "  hoodoos "  out  of  ties, 
brush,  bales  of  hay,  or  anything  that  came  handy.  These 
might  be  picturesque  in  their  setting,  but  sometimes,  in  a 
desolate  region,  they  only  added  to  the  natural  ugliness  of 
their  surroundings. 

John  Chinaman's  camp-bed  consisted  of  a  board  or  heap 
of  boughs  and  the  rush-mat  in  which  his  blankets  had  been 
rolled,  together  with  a  more  or  less  ornamental  section  of 
bamboo  for  a  pillow,  which  was  also  utilized  as  a  box  for 
small  valuables.  The  cook  built  a  half-shed,  half -tent  sort  of 
kitchen,  where  he  constructed  two  or  three  furnace-like  stoves 
out  of  stones  and  mud  by  walling  in  a  square  hole  in  the 
earthen  floor,  and  contrived  a  stovepipe  out  of  castaway  tin 
cans. 

John's  breakfast  is  early  and  simple  :  dried  fish,  rice  and 
tea  as  a  rule.  He  has  an  hour  at  noon  for  luncheon  (rice), 
and  between  meals  consumes  great  draughts  of  weak,  cold 
tea,  carried  about,  two  cans  at  a  time,  on  a  pole  balanced 
across  the  shoulders,  by  youngsters  not  strong  enough  to  do 
heavy  work  ;  for  a  great  many  of  the  later  immigrants  were 
merely  boys. 

Along  with  his  favorite  rice  and  tea  John  brings  from  the 
old  country  a  custom  of  personal  cleanliness  which  white 
navvies  can  never  be  brought  to  emulate.  Bach  coolie  has  his 
little  wooden  foot-tub,  and  his  first  move  at  the  end  of  his 
day's  work  is  to  get  it  full  of  the  hot  water  which  it  is  the 
cook's  duty  to  have  ready,  and  then  to  take  a  complete  bath. 

Then  follows  supper,  all  sitting  about  on  the  ground  and 
chattering  like  schoolgirls  to  the  rattle  of  chop-sticks  and  the 
banging  of  tin  cups.  After  supper  appear  the  queer  little 
pipes  for  tobacco  ;  or  perhaps  a  surreptitious  whiff  of 
much-adulterated  opium  will  be  indulged  in.  Many  may 


CHINESE    RAILWAY    LABORERS.  93 

then  be  seen  reading  or  ciphering  or  playing  native  games 
with  their  queer  little  cards. 

The  Northern  Pacific  in  Idaho  and  Montana  had  some  six 
thousand  of  these  Orientals  in  service  during  all  of  1882, 
besides  many  hundreds  of  white  people  and  a  few  Indians. 
Other  Pacific  coast  roads  employed  similar  numbers,  the  total 
reaching  about  thirty  thousand  ;  and  it  became  a  matter  of 


New  Work. 


anxiety  to  the  leading  Chinese  in  San  Francisco  and  Portland 
as  to  how  this  influx  should  be  provided  for  when  the  railways 
were  completed. 

Certain  kinds  of  work  considered  not  fit  for  a  white  man, 
chiefly  because  they  required  patience,  were  relegated  wholly 


94  CHINESE    RAILWAY   LABORERS. 

to  the  meek  foreigners ;  but  in  general  their  work  was 
shovelling  and  rock  excavation,  always  under  white  bosses, 
toward  whom  they  sometimes  exhibited  great  animosity, 
often  with  good  reason. 

White  bosses  were  necessary  on  account  of  the  dishonesty 
of  the  Chinese  in  reporting  hours  of  labor  ;  but  they  would 
bribe  so  unblushingly  and  successfully  that  a  special  set  of 
independent  watchmen,  called  time- takers,  was  necessary. 

In  many  cases  the  foremen  were  inexperienced,  so  that 
the  older  coolies  knew  better  than  they  how  things  should 
be  done,  particularly  in  regard  to  blasting.  Hence  gangs 
frequently  struck,  under  conviction  that  their  foreman's 
directions  were  wrong  and  dangerous.  Through  this,  or 
some  other  cause,  the  inferior  bosses  had  a  hard  time,  and 
were  in  constant  danger  of  open  attack  or  secret  harm. 

Not  being  able  to  speak  the  language  and  constantly 
irritated,  they  frequently  clubbed  the  workmen,  and  on  one 
or  two  occasions  even  killed  men  in  the  way  of  discipline. 
Yet  it  was  not  often  that  the  Chinese,  born  with  slavish 
instincts  and  accustomed  to  oppression,  turned  in  revolt  or 
self-defence. 

The  Chinese  proved  themselves  very  skilful  in  the 
management  of  explosives,  which  were  employed  extensively 
all  the  way  through  the  mountains,  and  they  had  great  respect 
for  expertness  in  this  direction.  I  knew  of  one  case  where  a 
gang,  one  of  whose  number  had  been  killed  by  its  boss, 
petitioned  for  his  retention  because  ' '  he  heap  sabe  (know) 
powder  —  no  kill  whole  gang  o'  Chinamans  !  " 

Though  they  were  not  able  to  get  through  as  much  work 
in  a  day  as  white  men,  they  were  very  valuable  to  the  railway 
contractor,  not  only  because  of  their  docility  and  handiness, 
but  because  they  could  be  relied  upon  to  stay  at  work.  Very 
few  of  them  knew  of  any  alternative,  and  were  never  restlessly 
inclined  to  quit  and  go  somewhere  else,  which  is  the  ruling 
disposition  in  the  white  workmen  of  that  region.  More- 
over, they  were  not  inclined  to  break  away  on  sprees,  and 


CHINESE    RAILWAY    LABORERS. 


95 


thus  incapacitate  themselves  for  labor  for  several  days  at  a 
time. 

Near  the  growing  end  of  every  new  railroad  was  an 
itinerant  town  of  liquor-sellers  and  all  sorts  of  bad  characters, 
which  continually  bred  delay,  waste  and  riot  among  the 
laborers.  To  these  places  the  Chinese  gave  no  patronage. 
They  had  their  own  vices,  the  worst  of  which  was  gambling 
among  themselves.  This  was  doubtless  bad  for  them,  but  it 
did  no  harm  to  the  general  progress  of  the  work.  This 
disposition  was  a  great  comfort  to  the  managers,  and  in  fact, 
was  the  salvation  of  the  work. 

Upon  the  completion  of  the  railways  in  1883  and  1884, 
great  numbers  of  Chinese,  both  old  settlers  and  raw  emigrants, 
made  their  way  to  the  large  towns,  whereupon  alarmists 
cried  out  lustily  at  the  frightful  evils  to  follow  ;  but  they 
were  absorbed  or  went  back  to  China,  and  the  evils  have  not 
occurred.  A  good  many  were  retained  as  section-men  along 
all  the  lines,  and  since  that  time  thousands  of  Chinese  have 
annually  found  employment  in  new  railway  construction  and 
in  coal-mining. 

ERNEST  INGERSOLL. 


Some  Rocky  Mountain  Animals. 

There  is  a  peculiar  charm  and  interest  in  Colorado 
mountains  when,  after  climbing  a  high  peak,  we  emerge 
from  the  forest.  The  desolate  vanguard  of  skeleton  trees, 
with  bleached  limbs,  which  have  perished  in  the  forefront  of 
the  battle  with  the  elements,  gives  place  to  a  soft  turf  that 
completely  clothes  the  upper  part  of  the  mountains  from 
timber-line  to  summit. 

This  turf  is  covered  with  dwarf  Alpine  flowers  of  exquisite 
beauty.  Here  are  soft  cushions  of  tiny  azure-blue  stars,  there 
tufts  of  blue  gentian  ;  and  by  the  side  of  a  rivulet  whose  icy 
waters  cut  the  rich  moss  rise  the  bright,  majestic  flowers  of 
Parry's  primrose  and  the  mauve  bells  of  the  Jacob 's-ladder. 

To  botanist,  zoologist  and  naturalist  this  ethereal  zone 
between  timber-line  and  peak  has  peculiar  interest,  for  here 
he  will  find  Arctic  flowers,  birds,  insects  and  animals  without 
risking  his  life  011  an  Arctic  expedition.  For  climate,  rather 
than  distance,  makes  these  changes  in  natural  life.  Hence 
our  eagerness  as  we  step  forward. 

What  shall  we  find  ?  What  birds,  butterflies,  plants  and 
quadrupeds  live  in  this  region  all  to  themselves,  so  far  above 
the  rest  of  earth  and  its  inhabitants  ?  We  were  not  long  left 
in  doubt,  for  our  appearance  was  the  signal  for  a  series  of 
shrill  whistles,  which  were  'answered  by  a  chorus  of  sharp 
little  barks  coming  from  numerous  unknown  places  among 
the  rocks. 

After  a  careful  reconnaissance,  we  caught  sight  of  a 
yellowish-brown  animal  like  a  woodchuck,  with  long,  brown, 
bushy  tail.  It  lay  flat  upon  a  slab  of  rock  like  a  squatting 
lizard,  repeating  at  intervals  the  sentinel  whistles  we  had 
heard,  which  were  echoed  by  a  chorus  of  teasing  little  barks, 
cheep  !  cheep  !  from  many  invisible  throats. 

By   closely   watching   the   spot    from   which   the    sounds 


SOME   ROCKY    MOUNTAIN    ANIMATES. 


97 


appeared  to  come,  we  were  rewarded  by  seeing  a  little  animal 
very  like  a  young  rabbit  mount  a  rock,  stand  erect  on  his 
haunches  and  pipe  out  his  sentinel  note,  which  was  immedi- 
ately answered  by  the  cries  of  others,  whom  we  now  saw 
peeping  out  from  under  the  stones. 

The  shrill  whistler  is  the  Rocky  Mountain  marmot,  and  is 
very  like  that  cousin  of  his  in  the    Eastern  States  which  is 


Rocky   Mountain  Animals. 

known  as  the  woodchuck,  but  is  larger,  yellower  and  with 
longer  tail.  He  lives  under  the  rocks  in  holes,  and  is  often 
seen  basking  in  the  sunshine  on  the  top  of  a  flat  rock  or 
alertly  keeping  sentinel  watch.  He  lives  on  the  succulent 
herbage,  and  lays  in  a  store  for  winter. 

The  other  little  animal  that  resembles  a  very  young  rabbit 
is  not  so  well  known.  Naturalists  call  him  the  pika,  and 
hunters  have  named  him  the  coney.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 


98  SOMK    ROCKY    MOUNTAIN    ANIMALS. 

he  is  identical  with  or  closely  related  to  the  conies  mentioned 
in  the  Bible,  and  is  found  on  the  tops  of  the  mountains  of 
Syria,  as  well  as  on  the  Himalayas.  His  resemblance  to  a 
3^oung  rabbit  is  close,  only  he  has  no  tail,  and  his  ears  are  not 
so  large.  There  is  also  a  difference  in  his  rodent  teeth. 

The  conies  live  in  colonies  among  the  loose  rocks,  and 
always  have  sentinels  posted  while  they  are  out  feeding.  The 
shadow  of  a  hawk  or  the  bark  of  the  sentinel  sends  them 
speedily  to  their  hiding-places,  from  which,  almost  with  equal 
speed,  they  emerge  to  see  who  the  intruder  is,  and  keep  up  a 
perpetual  barking.  They  are  rodents,  and  feed,  like  the 
marmots,  on  the  roots  and  stunted  herbage,  laying  up  a  store 
of  grasses,  like  little  hayricks,  against  the  long  winter,  when 
they  may  be  snowed  under  ten  feet  deep. 

As  we  walked  down  among  the  chaos  of  loose  rock  left 
by  an  ancient  glacier  in  its  melting  and  retreat,  a  flock  of 
birds  about  the  size  of  partridges  rose  with  a  whir  that 
startled  us,  and  alighting  again  a  few  yards  off,  suddenly 
became  invisible. 

These  were  the  Rocky  Mountain  ptarmigan  ;  and  their 
invisibility  is  due  to  the  close  resemblance  of  their  plumage  to 
the  stones  on  which  they  stand.  Either  because  their  foes 
and  visitors  are  very  few,  or  because  they  trust  to  their  colors 
for  concealment,  they  are  very  tame. 

These  birds  change  their  plumage  according  to  the  season 
of  the  year.  In  summer  they  are  gray  like  the  granite,  and 
in  winter,  snow-white.  Their  nests  are  composed  of  leaves, 
grass  and  feathers,  lying  on  the  ground.  They  feed  on  leaves 
and  seeds  of  mountain  plants. 

At  the  extreme  top  of  the  mountain,  fourteen  thousand  feet 
above  the  sea,  the  only  living  creature  we  could  find  was  a 
very  active  spider,  living  under  the  stones  and  apparently 
doing  well.  Under  the  same  stones,  too,  were  the  dead, 
frozen  bodies  of  hundreds  of  thousands  of  locusts,  which  had 
doubtless  been  beaten  down  by  a  storm  on  to  the  peak,  and 
had  perished  from  cold. 


SOME    ROCKY   MOUNTAIN    ANIMALS. 


99 


Ptarmigan. 


Butterflies,  especially  little  blue  and  brown  ones,  were 
plentiful.  In  one  of  singular  delicacy  and  beauty,  with  large, 
transparent  white  wings  on  which  were  purple  spots,  I 
recognized  an  old  friend  which  I  had 
first  met  in  the  Alps  of  Switzerland,  the 
Parnassus  or  Apollo  butterfly. 

A  little  gray-crowned  finch,  with 
purplish  wings,  is  another  frequenter  of 
the  peak.  It  is  often  seen  in  flocks 
about  the  miner's  cabin,  picking  up  a 
precarious  livelihood.  When  a  big 
storm  is  coming  on,  these  birds  betake 
themselves  to  the  valley  and  prairie, 
and  so  warn  people  of  its  approach. 

An  eagle  may  occasionally  soar  over 
the  peak  and  alight,  and  a  bear  may 
find  the  mountain-top  a  convenient  short 
cut  to  some  place  he  is  bound  for  on  his 
travels.  But  neither  of  these  animals  is,  like  the  rest,  a  true 
denizen  of  the  mountain-top,  both  in  summer  and  in  winter. 

One  of  the  most  singular  creatures  in  this  region  is  the 
Rocky  Mountain  rat.  Not  that  anything  is  very  peculiar  in 
his  appearance,  since  he  differs  but  little  from  a  rather  large 
ordinary  rat,  except  that  his  ears  are  larger,  while  his  fur  is 
soft  and  brown,  like  that  of  the  chinchilla,  and  his  tail  more 
bushy.  But ' '  for  ways  that  are  dark  and  tricks  that  are  vain  ' ' 
the  mountain  rat  is  decidedly  "  peculiar." 

When  wandering  among  the  rocks  and  canons,  you  may 
often  observe,  in  crevices  high  up  the  cliff,  an  accumulation 
of  sticks  and  rubbish,  which  you  might  suppose  to  be  the  nest 
of  an  eagle,  or  even  the  couch  of  a  Rocky  Mountain  bear,  for 
which  it  is  frequently  large  enough.  But  it  is  neither  of  these. 

It  is  the  nest  and  home  of  a  rat,  or  a  colony  of  rats,  which, 
like  a  few  other  animals,  have  an  extraordinary  mania  for 
general  accumulation,  and  in  particular  for  collecting  certain 
things  of  a  bright  and  shining  appearance,  seemingly  of  no 


100  SOME    ROCKY    MOUNTAIN    ANIMALS. 

possible   use   to   them.     They  are  instigated  by  a  veritable 
spirit  of  thieving. 

Nothing  seems  to  come  amiss  to  them,  from  watches,  tin 
plates  and  silver  spoons,  down  to  the  bones  and  horns  of  wild 
animals,  and  even  pieces  of  stone  and  slate. 

These  precious  trophies  are  dragged  with  infinite  pains 
up  to  the  monstrous  nest  in  the  clefts  of  the  rock,  which  is 
composed  of  twigs,  rubbish,  and  the  flotsam,  jetsam  and 
bric-a-brac  of  mountain,  forest,  stream  and  valley.  As  a 
naturalist,  I  have  found  a  mountain  rat's  nest  as  instructive 
about  the  natural  history  of  a  neighborhood  as  a  local  museum 
in  a  small  town. 

The  rats  do  not  confine  their  stealing  to  their  natural 
surroundings  among  the  rocks.  They  are  much  given  to 
taking  up  their  abode  in  the  lofts  and  roofs  of  log  cabins.  In 
the  night  they  are  heard  from,  by  certain  mysterious  ghostly 
rappings  and  tappings,  and  in  the  morning,  perhaps,  by  the 
absence  of  some  bright  article  from  the  breakfast  table,  laid 
overnight.  When  anything  of  this  kind  is  missing  from 
certain  cabins,  the  first  place  to  be  searched  is  the  mountain 
rat's  nest. 

The  rats'  industry  is  as  remarkable  as  their  thieving. 
They  spare  no  pains  to  convey  away  their  booty,  and  the  size 
and  weight  of  things  they  carry  off,  and  even  drag  up  a  steep 
hillside,  are  astonishing.  In  many  cases  the  robbery  must 
involve  the  labor  of  a  whole  confederate  band.  When  we 
were  engaged  in  geological  explorations  in  Wyoming  we  had 
an  example  of  this. 

We  were  digging  out,  at  the  time,  the  fossilized  remains  of 
a  gigantic  lizard,  and  were  in  the  habit  of  leaving  our  tools  — 
geological  hammers,  butcher-knives,  brooms,  etc. — in  the 
quarry  or  on  the  dump,  when  we  went  home  to  camp  for  the 
night.  One  morning,  returning  as  usual  to  our  work,  we 
found  that  everything  was  gone,  with  the  single  exceptions  of 
a  heavy  spade  and  pickaxe. 

Our  first  impression  was  that  the  quarry  had  been  raided 


SOME    ROCKY    MOUNTAIN    ANIMALS.  IOI 

by  tramps,  but  on  looking  around  a  little  we  espied  our 
long-handled  broom  lying  on  the  side  of  a  steep  hill,  some 
fifty  yards  away.  Not  far  from  it  were  the  geological 
hammers.  The  marks  of  sharp  little  teeth  on  the  handles 
showed  who  the  thieves  were. 

By  following  in  the  direction  in  which  the  articles  had 
been  travelling,  we  came  on  a  large  mountain  rats'  nest, 
sheltered  in  a  wide  crevice  in  a  sandstone  ledge.  We 
revenged  ourselves  on  the  little  marauders  by  drawing  daily 
from  their  nest  materials  to  build  our  noonday  fire.  Yet  after 
many  such  reprisals,  the  nest  still  held  out. 

I  took  a  rough  inventory  of  some  of  the  materials 
composing  it.  It  consisted  mainly  of  sticks,  leaves  and  twigs, 
and  mingled  with  them  were  the  bones  of  various  wild 
animals,  the  skull  of  a  coyote,  the  feathers  of  an  eagle,  spores 
of  prickly  pear,  thorny  branches  of  prickly  greasewood,  and 
here  and  there,  on  the  outside,  pieces  of  slate,  as  if  laid  on 
for  a  finishing  touch. 

In  the  heart  of  this  rough  mass  were  the  cozy  sleeping 
apartments  of  the  rats,  made  of  soft  moss.  The  motive  of  all 
this  accumulation  seemed  to  me  to  provide  warmth  and 
protection  against  the  intrusion  of  other  wild  animals. 

A  mountain  rat  finds  a  large  crevice.  He  makes  up  his 
mind  that  this,  no  matter  how  big,  must  be  filled,  to  keep  out 
wind,  snow  and  other  animals,  and  for  this  purpose  he  makes 
use  of  any  sort  of  material  that  comes  to  hand. 

As  regards  his  choice  of  shining  and  gay  materials,  it  may 
be  that  he  has  an  eye  for  decoration  and  the  beautiful,  like 
the  bower-bird  of  the  tropics. 

PROF.  ARTHUR  L,AKES. 


Where   Railroads  Go. 

The  railroads  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  present  some  of  the 
most  wonderful  examples  of  skilful  engineering  in  the  world, 
and  they  carry  passengers  past  scenery  unsurpassed  anywhere 
in  grandeur. 

Hven  those  who  have  gone  through  the  Grand  Canon  of 
the  Arkansas  in  Colorado,  on  the  Denver  &  Rio  Grande 
Railroad,  and  have  been  awed  by  its  silent  and  gloomy 
splendor,  may  not  know  that  before  the  railroad  was  built  the 
narrow  river  filled  the  space  between  the  rocky  walls  so  that 
neither  man  nor  beast  could  enter.  There  was  not  even  a 
footpath  by  the  river's  brink,  and  no  boat  could  navigate  its 
shallow  but  turbulent  waters. 

The  construction  of  the  Denver  &  Rio  Grande  Railroad 
was  begun  in  1870.  It  was  a  mighty  undertaking.  Entering 
the  canon  from  the  little  town  of  Canon  City,  at  its  mouth,  one 
is  almost  immediately  shut  in  by  two  nearly  perpendicular 
walls,  rising  now  and  then  more  than  two  thousand  feet. 

The  road-bed  in  some  places  is  cut  out  of  the  solid  rock  ; 
in  others  it  lies  on  rocky  grades  made  in  the  river-bed.  At 
times  the  laborers  were  lowered  by  ropes  from  the  high  walls 
above  to  drill  and  quarry  and  blast  out  a  line  for  the  road,  and 
in  the  entire  canon,  which  is  about  eight  miles  in  length, 
hardly  forty  feet  of  the  track  lie  in  a  straight  line. 

The  road  winds  around  sharp  curves  under  great  over- 
hanging rocks ;  it  crosses  and  re-crosses  the  noisy  little 
stream,  made  narrower  and  noisier  by  the  road-bed  which  has 
encroached  on  a  right  of  way  that  was  never  before  disputed. 

Out  and  in  the  train  goes  among  the  deep  shadows  and 
the  tumbled  rock  piles,  grim  and  red,  of  the  Royal  Gorge, 
a  part  of  the  canon  about  two  miles  long,  where  the  culmination 
of  rugged  mountain  grandeur  and  magnificence  is  reached. 
One  wonders  if  there  are  any  limitations  to  the  achievements 


WHERE   RAILROADS   GO. 


I03 


of  modern   railroad   engineering  when   trains  go   easily  and 
speedily  through  places  once  inaccessible  to  man  or  beast. 

Another  line  of  mountain  railroad  of  great  interest  is  the  La 
Veta  Pass  line,  that  runs  over  the  Sangre  de  Christo  mountain 

range.  Here  an  eleva- 
tion of  nearly  twenty- 
four  hundred  feet  is 
reached  in  thirteen 
miles,  and  at  one  point 
the  grade  is  more  than 
two  hundred  feet  to 
the  mile  for  a  distance 
of  three  miles. 

Before  the  pass  is 
reached  the  Spanish 
Peaks  are  seen  rising  above  the  other 
mountain  summits  to  heights  of 
twelve  and  thirteen  thousand  feet. 
They  stand  apart  from  the  other 
summits,  rugged  and  majestic. 

The  Denver  &  South  Park  line  of 
railroad,  reaching  to  the  Gunnison 
country,  passes  through  a  tunnel 
seventeen  hundred  feet  long,  at  the 
great  height  of  eleven  thousand  feet. 
What  a  victory  over  natural  obstacles 
this  means  can  only  be  understood  by 
those  who  have  gone  over  this  line  of 
road.  Passengers  glancing  out  of  the 
car  windows  hold  their  breath  in  places  where  the  train  seems 
clinging  to  the  mountain  wall,  thousands  of  feet  above  the 
dark  and  gloomy  canons  below.  One  cannot  help  thinking 
of  the  frightful  result  if  a  wheel  should  leave  the  track,  or 
one  of  the  overhanging  rocks  should  come  crashing  down. 

One   may  ride  many  miles  on   these  wonderful    railroads 
without  seeing  a  house,  and  the  stations  are  often  many  miles 


104 


WHERK    RAILROADS   GO. 


apart.     The  towns  and  cities,  when  reached,  often  consist  of 
a  single  house. 

I  remember  one  such  city,  away  up  on  the  summit  of  a 
mountain  ten  thousand  feet  high.  The  engine  behind  which 
I  rode  went  panting  and  puffing  up  to  it  one  bright  day  in 
June  several  years  ago.  The  last  mile  of  the  ascent  was  a 
noble  pull  up  the  steep  and  flinty  side  of  the  mountain. 


Snow-Sheds 
in  the   Rockies. 


Whirling  suddenly  around  a  curve,  the  ascent  became  less 
abrupt,  and  we  stopped  before  a  tiny  station,  painted  bright 
blue,  standing  on  a  bit  of  level  ground  a  few  feet  square. 
There  were  bright  red  calico  curtains  with  white  lace  borders 
at  the  windows,  in  which  were  plants  in  bloom.  Through  the 
open  door  one  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  tidy  little  room,  with  a 
bright  rag  carpet  on  the  floor,  and  with  walls  covered  with  gay 
picture-cards. 

A  tidy  little  woman,  with  the  whitest  of  aprons  and  the 
starchiest  of  calico  dresses,  came  to  the  door,  on  the  step 


WHERE   RAILROADS   GO. 


105 


of  which  a  splendid  old  Maltese  cat  lay  asleep  in  the  sunshine. 
A  canary  sang  shrilly  within,  and  just  before  we  went  on  our 
way  a  curly-headed  baby  came  creeping  across  the  floor  and 
was  caught  up  in  its  mother's  arms  to  wave 
us  a  good-by  with  one  of  its  chubby  hands. 
In   another   moment   we   were  rushing 
down    the   mountain-side    to    the    gloomy 
gulch   below,  leaving   far   behind  us   that 
pretty  picture  of  home  life  in  the  sunshine 
of   the  heights.     Perhaps   railroads  go 
to  more  remarkable  places  in  Colo- 
rado than  in  any  other  State  in  the 
Union  ;  but  in  California  there  are 
railroad  wonders  scarcely  less  note- 
worthy. 

The  passenger  who,  for  the  first 
time,  climbs  the  Tehachapi  Sum- 
mit Pass  on  the  Southern  Pacific 
Railroad  is  astonished,  after  he 
has  left  behind  him  the  level  lands 
of  the  San  Joaquin  valley,  and  is 
scaling  veritable  mountain  heights, 

to  find  the  train  crossing  another  railroad  track,  though  at  a 
height  considerably  above  it.  "Can  it  be  possible,"  the 
passenger  asks,  "  that  there  is  another  railroad  running  along 
the  top  of  this  lonesome  mountain  in  the  wilderness  ?  ' ' 

Then  he  is  told  by  some  fellow-passenger,  probably  with  a 
smile,  that  he  is  crossing  the  track  that  he  himself  has  just 
ridden  over.  The  road  has  made  a  loop  upon  itself ;  and 
while  the  train,  in  making  the  circuit  of  this  loop,  has  not 
progressed  at  all  toward  its  destination,  it  has  risen  a  good 
many  feet  higher  toward  the  summit  which  it  must  climb 
before  it  starts  on  its  descent. 

J.  L.  HARBOUR. 


Digging-  Up  a  Fossil  Monster. 

The  Rocky  Mountain  region  is  a  treasure-house  of 
curiosities,  of  minerals,  crystals  and  fossils.  Fossil  shells, 
fossil  leaves,  fossil  reptiles  and  mammals  abound. 

The  great  upheaval  of  the  Rockies  has  brought  these 
wonders  to  light  from  their  sepulchres  deep  in  the  earth. 
The  upheaval  of  the  granite  core  has  tilted  up  and  exposed 
the  deeply  buried  strata  along  its  flanks  in  such  a  manner 
that  any  one  can  study  a  thickness  of  a  mile  or  so  of  them  in 
an  afternoon's  walk  by  passing  along  their  upturned  edges. 
Thus  he  can  see,  as  it  were,  a  mile  or  more  into  the  material 
composing  the  bowels  of  the  earth  without  accompanying 
Jules  Verne  on  an  imaginary  trip  to  the  centre,  or  boring  a 
well  a  mile  or  more  deep. 

I  was  spending  an  evening  at  a  country  resort  in  a 
picturesque  locality  among  the  upturned  rocks  of  the  foot- 
hills. At  the  request  of  the  guests  of  the  hotel,  I  gave  them 
a  brief  lecture  or  sketch  of  geology,  and  whilst  describing  the 
succession  of  periods  and  rocks  composing  the  earth's  crust, 
and  the  succession  also  of  the  different  animals  that  had  lived 
on  those  rocks,  I  happened  to  say  that  the  rocks  on  which  the 
hotel  was  built  belonged  to  those  of  the  Reptilian  period,  and 
that  possibly  strange  reptiles  might  be  sleeping  in  their  tombs 
beneath  its  foundations. 

The  next  day  the  guests,  fired  with  an  interest  in  geology, 
proposed  an  excursion  among  the  rocks.  After  we  had 
climbed  over  ridge  after  ridge  of  red  sandstone,  limestone 
and  marls  of  the  Triassic  period,  we  reached  the  foot  of  a 
very  prominent  hogback,  or  ridge,  composed  of  variegated 
marls,  clays  and  sandstones,  when  one  of  the  party  in 
advance  called  out  that  he  had  found  the  impression  of  a 
fossil  tree-trunk  on  a  fallen  slab  of  sandstone.  As  such  a 
fossil  is  not  uncommon  in  this  region,  I  was  not  surprised. 


DIGGING  UP  A   FOSSIIy  MONSTER. 


I07 


On  reaching  the  spot  I  saw  that  the  impression  on  the  slab 
was  far  too  smooth  to  have  been  made  by  the  rough  bark  of  a 
fossilized  tree.  It  was  more  like  the  impression  a  stovepipe 


The  Atlantosaurus,  as  found    and  in  life. 


would  have  made  on  a  soft  bed  of  clay.  In  one  corner  were 
little  porous,  pinked  fragments  adhering  to  the  rock,  which  I 
recognized  as  fossil  bone. 


108  DIGGING  UP  A   FOSSIL   MONSTER. 

» 

"This,"  I  said,  "is  no  tree,  but  the  impression  of  the 
bone  of  some  prodigious  monster." 

Forthwith  we  clambered  up  the  cliff  to  the  spot  whence  the 
slab  of  rock  had  evidently  fallen  from  its  parent  ledge ;  and 
there  at  our  feet  lay  three  huge  vertebrae,  partially  imbedded 
in  stone,  each  about  a  foot  in  diameter,  and  all  united  to  form 
the  massive  sacrum  of  the  monster,  to  which  the  tail  is 
attached.  Hunting  among  the  bushes  below  the  ledge,  we 
found  the  broken  ends  of  limb  bones,  like  Hercules  war- 
clubs,  while  other  fragments  could  be  seen  still  imbedded  in 
the  sandstone  of  the  ledge. 

We  sent  to  the  village  and  procured  a  quarryman,  tools 
and  blasting  powder,  and  began  opening  up  the  rocks  with 
wedges  and  powder.  This  resulted  in  the  discovery  of  many 
other  bones  and  some  spoon-shaped  teeth. 

We  watched  for  the  results  of  the  blasts  with  great  interest. 
Once  when  the  smoke  had  cleared  off,  and  an  overlying  slab 
had  been  blown  to  pieces,  there  lay  beneath  it  a  perfect  limb 
bone,  black  as  ebony,  and  five  feet  in  length. 

At  another  time  the  perfect  skull  of  a  crocodile,  with  teeth 
complete  in  the  sockets,  was  uncovered.  It  was  doubtless  the 
skull  of  a  creature  which  lived  in  the  same  swamp  with  the 
larger  animal.  Bones  and  shells  of  turtles  and  fish-bones  were 
found  with  the  remains,  showing  that  the  animal,  whatever  it 
was,  must  have  lived  and  died  in  the  vicinity  of  lakes,  or 
rivers,  or  fresh-water  swamps. 

Large  vertebrae  were  quite  common,  especially  those 
belonging  to  the  neck  and  tail.  These,  which  looked  like 
buffets  when  lying  on  the  dump,  varied  in  size  from  fifteen 
inches  in  diameter  down  to  three  or  four  inches.  Some 
belonged  to  the  neck  and  back,  and  others  to  the  tail. 
Sharp,  black,  scimitar-like  teeth,  belonging  to  some  carnivo- 
rous species,  were  occasionally  found,  mingled  with  the  other 
remains. 

The  largest  bone  found  was  a  gigantic  femur,  or  thigh- 
bone, which,  from  the  enormous  proportions  of  the  butt  ends, 


DIGGING   UP   A   FOSSIL   MONSTER.  IOn 

was  as  first  estimated  to  be  nine  feet  in  length,  making 
allowance  for  a  portion  of  it  missing  ;  but  it  turns  out  to  have 
been  only  six  feet  four  inches. 

Curious  to  know  the  nature  of  this  prodigious  creature, 
we  sent  off  a  car-load  of  bones  to  Professor  Marsh  of  Yale 
College,  a  great  authority  on  fossil  animals.  He  informed 
us  that  the  bones  were  those  of  a  gigantic  land-lizard,  or 
Dinosaur,  and  he  declared,  from  the  size  of  the  bones,  that  it 
was  far  greater  than  any  that  had  hitherto  been  discovered. 
He  named  it  forthwith  the  Atlantosaurus  immanis,  or  the  huge 
Atlas  lizard,  as  a  compliment  to  Atlas,  who  is  supposed  to 
have  carried  the  world  on  his  shoulders. 

This  is  the  greatest  land  animal  that  has  ever  been 
discovered,  and  in  all  probability  the  greatest  that  ever 
walked  this  earth.  The  only  bones  at  all  comparable  to  it 
are  those  of  the  whale. 

The  length  of  the  animal  is  computed  at  between  sixty 
and  eighty  feet,  or  possibly  even  more.  Its  height,  as  it 
strode  along  on  its  four  stout  legs,  was  between  twenty  and 
twenty-five  feet. 

As  the  bones  of  the  creature  were  not  all  found,  or 
complete,  the  length  might  be  estimated  by  the  size  and 
number  of  the  vertebrae  as  compared  with  those  of  the 
modern  crocodile.  As  for  height,  perfect  legs  were  found 
whose  length  was  upward  of  fifteen  feet.  Allowing  five  feet 
or  a  little  more  for  the  space  between  the  top  of  the  limb  and 
the  ridge  of  the  back,  twenty  feet  is  a  very  moderate  estimate. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  compare  it  to  any  living  animal. 
It  was  a  gigantic  lizard,  mounted  on  tall,  stout,  elephantine 
legs,  with  a  long,  thick,  powerful  tail,  and  a  longish,  thick 
neck,  tapering  to  a  small,  almost  serpent-like  head,  far 
smaller  than  one  would  expect  for  so  huge  a  monster.  The 
skin  may  have  been  covered  with  shining  scales. 

The  atlantosaurus  appears  to  have  been  quiet  and  harmless 
in  habit,  and  dependent  mainly  upon  his  vast  size  for  pro- 
tection against  other  more  formidable  kinds.  The  character 


HO  DIGGING  UP  A   FOSSIL   MONSTER. 

of  the  teeth  imply  that  he  was  herbivorous,  and  his  habits 
may  have  been  somewhat  like  those  of  the  hippopotamus. 

As  a  land  animal,  he  walked  proudly  among  the  forests  of 
the  Jurassic  period,  or  baked  and  wallowed  in  the  marshes 
that  then  surrounded  the  young,  low-lying  Rocky  Mountain 
region,  and  stretched  down  to  the  sea,  where  sea-serpents 


Ichthyosaur  and  Dinosaur. 

and   many  strange   reptiles   held  sway  in  the  waters,  while 
reptilian-like  bats  and  birds  flew  in  the  air. 

On  land  there  were  many  species  of  these  dinosaurs,  some 
of  which  we  discovered  later  in  Wyoming.  Some  were 
herbivorous  and  some  carnivorous ;  some  walked  upon  all 
fours,  others  hopped  along  on  their  long  hind  legs  like 
kangaroos,  and  others  were  very  bird-like  in  appearance 


DIGGING   UP   A    FOSSIL   MONSTER.  Ill 

and   gait.     They  were   of   all  sizes,  from   that  of   the   great 
atlantosauri  down  to  lizards  no  larger  than  a  cat. 

With  these  remains  we.  found  in  Wyoming  those  of  tiny 
mammals,  probably  the  first  known,  resembling  kangaroo  rats. 

The  question  is  sometimes  asked,  "  How  long  ago  did 
these  monsters  live  ?  ' '  To  this  we  can  give  no  definite 
answer,  further  than  that  it  was  very  long  ago  —  thousands, 
perhaps  millions,  of  years  ago.  Some  idea  of  their  great  age 
may  be  obtained  by  considering  the  thickness  of  rocks  that 
lie  above  them. 

These  rocks  were  slowly  and  gradually  laid  down,  as  sea, 
river  and  lake  are  slowly  laying  down  their  beds  of  mud  and 
sand  to-day,  to  become  in  time  solidified  into  shale  and 
sandstone.  There  has  lain  above  the  tombs  of  these  animals 
as  much  as  ten  thousand  feet  of  rock,  all  of  which  was  formed, 
of  course,  after  they  were  dead  and  buried. 

Much  of  this  rock  is  a  fine  shale  or  clay,  which  must  have 
formed  very  slowly  at  the  bottom  of  a  deep  sea.  The  rest  is 
sandstone,  which  may  have  formed  a  little  faster.  Some 
geologists  estimate  the  thickness  of  rock  to  have  been  formed 
at  the  rate  of  from  one  foot  in  one  thousand  to  five  thousand 
years.  Multiply,  then,  your  ten  thousand  feet  by  either  of 
these  numerals,  and  you  will  see  how  very  long,  even  at  the 
lowest  estimate,  it  must  have  been  since  these  bones  were  first 
buried  in  the  mud  of  the  ancient  Jurassic  marsh. 

These  bones  were  quickly  covered  up  and  sealed  from  the 
influence  of  the  atmosphere.  In  this  state  they  were  soaked 
through  and  through  with  water  carrying  minute  particles  of 
quartz  and  mineral  matter,  and  as  the  tissues  of  the  bones 
decayed,  they  were  microscopically  replaced  by  this  quartz 
matter,  which  in  some  of  the  larger  bones  is  a  beautiful  agate 
and  carnelian. 

PROF.  ARTHUR  L,AKES. 


A  Petrified  Big  Tree. 

In  a  little  meadow-park  called  Florissant,  nine  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea  and  in  the  heart  of  the  mountains  in  the 
state  of  Colorado,  we  came  across  half  a  dozen  stumps  of 
trees  from  ten  to  fifteen  feet  in  diameter,  turned  into  solid, 
hard  stone. 

One  of  the  largest  of  these  stumps  had  been  partially 
excavated  from  its  bed  by  some  enterprising  people  who  had 
intended  to  carry  it  to  the  World's  Fair  at  Chicago. 

It  stood  about  twenty  feet  above  its  base,  and  was  fifteen 
feet  in  diameter.  As  it  was  too  huge  and  heavy  to  transport 
bodily,  they  tried  to  saw  it  up  into  sections  ;  but  fortunately 
for  Colorado,  its  flinty  hardness  was  more  than  a  match  for 
thin  stone-saws  of  soft  iron,  which  are  still  sticking  in  the  tree 
as  monuments  of  their  discomfiture. 

So  wonderfully  has  the  stony  material  replaced  the  texture 
and  grain  of  the  original  tree,  and  even  in  some  parts 
simulated  its  color,  that  but  for  its  unusual  size  any  one 
might  have  passed  it  by  as  an  old  dead  pine  stump  felled  by 
some  early  settler. 

It  was  easily  recognized  as  a  fossil  representative  of 
redwood.  Not  only  is  the  rough  texture  of  portions  of  the 
thick  bark  preserved,  but  even  the  minutest  wood-cells  and 
rings  of  yearly  growth  are  retained.  Sometimes  a  faint  tinge 
of  iron-rust  nearly  restores  portions  of  the  wood  to  its  redwood 
color,  but  the  prevailing  tint  is  an  ashen-gray,  like  that  of 
an  old  dead  stump. 

As  you  pick  up  one  of  the  chips  scattered  around  by  the 
hammers  of  tourists,  its  weight  and  hardness  alone  convince 
you  that  it  is  really  stone  and  not  an  old  cedar  chip  left 
by  the  axe  of  an  early  wood-chopper.  To  complete  the 
resemblance  to  certain  parts  of  the  living  tree,  sap-vessels 
and  veins  are  here  and  there  filled  with  what  appears  to 


A   PETRIFIED    BIG  TREE.  113 

be   gum,    but   it   is   really   semi-transparent    agate,    opal   or 
chalcedony. 

When  we  make  fine,  thin  sections  of  the  fossil  wood  and 
put  them  under  the  microscope,  we  find  a  peculiar  pattern 
of  the  wood  cells  which  is  the  same  as  that  of  the  modern 
sequoia,  showing  that  these  lone  trees,  over  a  thousand  miles 


A  Petrified  Tree-Stump. 


from  the   Pacific  coast,  are  the  stony  representatives  of   the 
great  living  sequoias. 

How  was  this  tree  so  wonderfully  changed  into  stone,  and 
how  comes  it  here,  almost  alone  in  the  Rockies?  Stone  it 
certainly  is  ;  moreover,  there  is  not  a  particle  of  the  original 
tree  in  it,  any  more  than  there  is  flesh  and  blood  in  a  marble 
statue  or  a  plaster  cast.  It  is  a  stone  statue  or  restoration 
of  a  once  living  tree,  far  more  perfect  than  that  of  any  statue 
by  the  greatest  sculptors. 


II4  A   PETRIFIED    BIG   TREE. 

It  is  not  an  uncommon  notion  that  certain  substances  or 
bodies  have,  after  life  is  extinct,  some  mysterious  power  in 
themselves  of  turning  themselves  into  stone  ;  but  such  is  not 
the  case.  A  buffalo  dies  on  the  prairie  ;  his  flesh  rots  and 
passes  away  into  various  gases ;  his  skeleton  lasts  a  few  years 
longer  and  then  passes  into  dust  and  soil.  Similarly  a  tree 
dies,  rots,  falls  to  the  ground  and  makes  soil  for  other  trees  to 
grow  on.  Neither  buffalo  nor  tree  has  any  elements  in  itself 
that  can  transform  any  part  of  it  into  stone. 

Suppose,  on  the  other  hand,  a  tree  like  our  sequoia  to 
grow  near  a  marsh  or  lake.  The  waters  of  the  lake  encroach 
011  its  roots,  kill  the  tree,  and  bury  its  stump  in  mud  while 
the  upper  portion,  falling  into  the  lake,  becomes  water-logged, 
sinks  to  the  bottom  and  is  entombed  in  mud,  which  arrests 
rapid  decay.  In  this  condition  petrifaction  may  gradually 
take  place. 

Nearly  all  waters  contain  mineral  matter,  such  as  iron, 
soda  or  lime.  If  the  waters  are  acid  and  heated,  as  they  are 
apt  to  be  in  the  neighborhood  of  volcanic  action,  they 
generally  contain  quartz  or  silica  in  a  dissolved  state,  which 
they  deposit  in  a  gelatinous  condition,  like  gum  arabic. 
This  afterward  hardens  into  agate  or  chalcedony  as  hard  as 
glass.  If  clayey  matter  is  added  to  it  it  may  form  some  kind 
of  hard  stone  like  jasper. 

Suppose  a  tree,  then,  in  the  bed  of  a  lake  to  be  saturated 
through  and  through  with  such  mineral-bearing  water.  The 
larger  pores  and  veins  are  quickly  filled  with  agate,  opal  or 
chalcedony,  so  like  pine  gum.  Then  a  long  protracted, 
minute  work  goes  on.  As  each  tiny  particle  or  wood-cell 
rots  away,  it  is  replaced  by  a  minute  particle  of  quartz  or 
stony  matter,  till,  when  at  last  every  living  element  of  the 
tree  has  vanished,  a  microscopically  perfect  restoration  of  the 
tree,  both  externally  and  internally,  is  left  behind  in  stone  — 
a  monument  for  all  time,  of  the  tree  that  lived  and  died  ages 
and  ages  ago. 

All    trees   that   have   fallen    into   lakes   and   rivers   have 


A   PETRIFIED   BIG   TREE.  Irr 

not  been  so  preserved.  Peculiar  circumstances  have  been 
necessary  for  such  petrifaction.  The  most  favorable  cir- 
cumstances are  often  the  presence  of  acid  and  hot  springs 
in  a  volcanic  neighborhood,  such  as  we  see  in  the  geysers 
of  the  Yellowstone,  where  there  are  whole  forests  of  petrified 
trees. 

The  surroundings  of  these  fossil  trees  are  no  less  interesting 
than  the  trees  themselves.  The  roots  are  imbedded  in  shale 
and  sandstone,  the  solidified  mud  of  a  primeval  lake.  This 
is  composed  of  grains  and  fragments  of  volcanic  lava,  often 
as  fine  as  the  finest  dust. 

Opening  the  thin  layers  of  this  petrified  mud  with  our 
knives,  we  find  numerous  impressions  of  fossil  insects,  such 
as  ants,  dragon-flies  and  tropical  lantern-flies.  A  fossil 
butterfly  impression  has  also  been  found,  one  of  the  very  few 
ever  discovered  ;  so  perfect  that  the  color-pattern  on  its  wings 
can  be  distinctly  made  out,  and  the  species  identified. 

Mingled  with  these  are  equally  perfect  impressions  of 
fossil  leaves  of  a  semi-tropical  character,  such  as  those  of  a 
palmetto.  A  fossil  bird  and  fossil  fishes  have  been  found. 
All  the  remains  indicate  the  existence  at  the  time  of  the  lake 
of  a  semi-tropical  climate,  very  different  from  that  of  this 
neighborhood  to-day. 

From  such  remains  and  other  discoveries  we  can  get  some 
idea  of  the  history  of  the  lake  and  its  fossil  trees. 

Some  thousands  of  years  ago  a  small  mountain  lake 
nestled  among  these  hills.  Its  banks  were  surrounded  by 
luxuriant  semi-tropical  vegetation,  among  which,  close  to  the 
edge  of  the  lake,  towered  the  great  sequoia.  Volcanic 
eruptions  took  place  along  the  shore  of  the  lake,  and  by 
violent  explosions  filled  the  air  with  lava  dust  and  ashes, 
which  fell  in  showers  into  the  lake  and  formed  its  mud. 

Leaves  of  trees  that  had  been  blown  into  the  lake,  and 
insects  that  perished  on  its  muddy  flats  or  in  its  waters, 
together  with  the  water-logged  stumps  of  trees,  were 
periodically  buried  beneath  these  eruptions  of  volcanic  mud. 


Il6  A    PETRIFIED    BIG   TREE. 

Hot,  acid  springs  accompanying  or  following  the  eruptions 
assisted  in  the  process  of  petrifaction. 

The  eruptions  in  time  ceased,  the  lake  dried  up  or  was 
drained  off,  glaciers  and  floods  cut  ravines  in  the  old  lake 
beds  and  exposed  their  fossil  treasures. 

The  sequoias  are  probably  the  oldest,  as  well  as  the  largest 
trees,  now  growing  on  this  planet.  They  are  survivals  of  an 
age  long  past.  They  were,  geologists  believe,  among  the 
earliest  genuine  forest  trees  to  appear  on  this  planet. 

Before  that  time  there  were  but  seaweeds  and  gigantic 
ferns,  rushes  and  mosses,  till  about  the  middle  of  the  earth's 
history,  at  the  time  when  the  great  lizards  appeared.  With 
them  came  the  great  sequoia-tree.  Around  it  were  strange, 
gigantic  forms  of  animal  and  vegetable  life  ;  and  its  survival 
among  us  to-day  seems  almost  as  strange  as  it  would  be  to 
see  one  of  those  terrible,  gigantic  lizards  walking  among  the 
trees  of  Central  Park  and  passing  from  branch  to  branch. 

The  sequoia  saw  the  age  of  great  reptiles  fade  away  and 
give  place  to  that  of  almost  as  great  and  formidable  mammals. 
The  sequoia,  or  rather  its  descendants,  saw  man  arrive  upon 
the  earth,  and  doubtless  witnessed  what,  if  we  knew  it,  would 
clear  up  the  mystery  of  the  missing  link.  To-day  it  sees  the 
railway  train  fly  through  what  is  left  of  its  forests,  and  has 
the  telegraph  wire  pinned  to  its  thick  bark. 

In  the  present  age  there  are  but  two  varieties  of  sequoia, 
and  these  are  confined  to  the  Pacific  coast.  In  geological 
times  there  were  twenty-six  varieties,  scattered  over  the  world 
from  the  extreme  Arctic  Circle  to  Australia.  This  wide 
distribution  accounts  for  our  finding  the  fossil  stumps  in 
Colorado. 

PROF.  ARTHUR  L,AKES. 


The  Holy  Cross  and  Twin  Lakes. 

The  progress  made  by  railroads  during  late  years  has 
rendered  accessible  many  points  of  interest  and  beauty  in  the 
Rocky  Mountains  that  could  be  reached  before  only  by  long 
and  wearisome  journeys  on  horseback  and  in  wagons. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  points  in  northwestern  Colorado 
is  the  Mount  of  the  Holy  Cross,  about  which  little  has  been 
written.  This  mountain  is  nearly  three  miles  high,  very 
rugged  and  barren. 

Away  up  above  the  great  gray  rocks,  above  the  lofty 
pines,  amid  the  barren  boulders,  the  Holy  Cross  lies  outlined, 
on  summer  days,  beneath  the  blue  sky. 

The  mountain  derives  its  name  from  this  cross,  which  is 
formed  by  the  deep  snow  lying  in  two  depressions  nearly  at 
the  summit  of  the  mountain  ;  these  depressions,  or  ravines, 
are  so  formed  by  nature  that  they  cross  each  other  at  right 
angles. 

They  are  very  deep,  and  become  filled  with  snow  during 
the  winter  months.  In  the  summer  the  snow  melts  from 
around  the  ravines,  and  leaves  the  great  white  cross  distinctly 
revealed  against  the  gray  rocks. 

Under  the  light  of  a  full  moon,  in  which  all  the  splendors 
of  the  mountain  are  enhanced,  the  Holy  Cross  lies  gleaming 
in  its  snowy  purity,  and  awakens  in  the  beholder's  heart 
thoughts  of  the  sacred  cross  on  Mount  Calvary  upon  which 
our  Saviour  died.  Even  the  rough  class  of  men  found  in  this 
newly  settled  part  of  Colorado  regard  the  Holy  Cross  with  a 
kind  of  awe. 

The  cross  is  not  visible  in  the  winter,  when  the  whole 
summit  of  the  mountain  lies  buried  under  many  feet  of  snow. 
It  is,  indeed,  a  singular  work  of  nature,  and  well  worth  the 
long  ride  you  must  take  to  either  of  the  points  from  which 
the  finest  views  of  the  cross  are  to  be  had. 


THE  MOUNT  OF 
THE  HOLY  CROSS. 


The   most  impressive  view  of  the 

Cross  is  by  night  at  the  time  of  the 

full  moon. 


THE    HOLY   CROSS   AND   TWIN    LAKHS.  II9 

With  the  present  railroad  facilities  the  journey  from  the 
Mount  of  the  Holy  Cross  to  the  Twin  Lakes  can  be  made  in 
a  day.  You  go  through  the  picturesque  little  mining  town 
of  Red  Cliff,  over  Tennessee  Pass,  and  across  Tennessee 
Park  to  Leadville. 

The  lakes  are  fifteen  miles  southwest  of  I^eadville,  and  lie 
in  an  elevation  of  over  nine  thousand  feet  above  the  sea-level. 

They  cover  an  area  of  about  four  miles  in  length  by  one 
and  one-fourth  miles  in  width,  and  are  separated  by  only  a 
narrow  strip  of  land.  They  are  surrounded  on  three  sides 
by  lofty  mountain  heights  that  slope  down  to  the  very  water's 
edge. 

On  the  other  side  is  the  wide  valley  of  the  Arkansas, 
beyond  which  rises  another  lofty  range  of  mountain-peaks, 
clearly  defined  against  the  sky,  although  they  are  many  miles 
distant.  On  their  summits  the  snow  lies  during  all  the  bright 
summer  days. 

The  lakes  contain  great  numbers  of  the  pretty  speckled 
mountain  trout  that  are  so  great  a  luxury  in  their  season. 

Fishermen  are  generally  very  lucky,  although  the  water  is 
so  perfectly  clear  that  the  fish  in  the  depths  below  can  see  the 
human  monster  at  the  other  end  of  the  line. 

The  speckled  beauties  can  be  seen  darting  here  and  there 
far  below  you  as  you  glide  in  the  gaily-painted  little  boats 
over  the  ever  placid  water.  In  some  places  the  water  is  very 
deep;  it  has  been  sounded  to  a  depth  of  eight  hundred  feet, 
and  it  is  probable  that  the  lakes  are  not  deeper  than  that  in 
any  place. 

Boys  who  take  delight  in  thinking  what  a  good  time  they 
would  have  swimming  in  these  beautiful,  tempting  lakes, 
would  be  very  likely  to  jump  out  of  the  clear  waters  more 
quickly  than  they  jumped  into  them,  for  in  this  altitude  the 
water  is  several  degrees  too  cold  for  bathing,  even  in  the 
warmest  August  days. 

In  summer  the  air  is  delightfully  clear,  bright  and  cool. 
Persons  accustomed  to  languish  in  the  terrible  heat  of  the 


120  THK   HOI.Y   CROSS   AND   TWIN 

East  would  at  the  lakes  enjoy  the  novelty  of  snuggling  up 
under  several  blankets  during  the  warmest  summer  nights. 

Here  is  found  a  sure  and  safe  retreat  from  Old  Sol's 
fiercest  rays.  It  is  one  of  the  highest  summer  resorts  in 
America „  if  not  in  the  world. 

Since  L,eadville  came  into  existence  the  lakes  have  become 
a  very  popular  place  of  resort,  and  a  number  of  good  hotels 
have  been  erected. 

Tourist  and  camping-out  parties  come  here  during  the 
summer  months,  and  add  to  the  picturesqueness  of  the 
surroundings  by  pitching  tents  all  along  the  shores,  and 
roughing  it  in  a  healthful,  if  not  entirely  comfortable,  manner. 

Students  with  a  fondness  for  geological  investigations 
could  not  find  a  better  locality  in  which  to  gratify  their 
inclinations.  Some  of  the  formations  are  very  singular  and 
interesting  to  study. 

Mining  is  carried  on  to  some  extent  near  the  lakes.  The 
adjacent  gulches  and  ravines  are  well  worth  a  visit,  which 
rarely  fails  to  reward  the  explorer  by  the  discovery  of  some 
strange  and  wonderful  freak  of  nature.  Here  it  is  a 
remarkable  formation  of  rock,  there  a  rare  mineral,  and 
again  the  visitor  sees  how  even  the  trees  and  the  shrubs 
adapt  themselves  to  the  situation  in  which  they  are  placed. 

A  short  distance  above  the  upper  lake  is  a  beautiful 
waterfall,  where  the  clear  water  comes  roaring  and  foaming 
down  over  a  bed  of  boulders. 

J.  L,.  HARBOUR. 


Signal  Station  on  Pike's  Peak. 

When  the  United  States  signal  service,  which  most 
people  call  the  weather  bureau,  although  there  is  no  warrant 
for  so  doing,  was  first  established  in  November,  1870,  it  was 
a  very  small  affair,  and  even  so  late  as  1873  it  had  not  grown 
to  very  large  proportions.  In  the  summer  of  that  year  it  was 
determined  to  establish  stations  on  the  summits  of  one  or  more 
of  the  peaks  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  Pike's  Peak  was 
selected  for  the  site  of  the  first  station. 

There  were  several  reasons  for  this  choice.  Along  the 
eastern  fringe  of  the  mountains  in  Wyoming  and  Colorado 
there  are  at  least  a  dozen  isolated  peaks,  each  about  fourteen 
thousand  feet  in  height,  and  as  far  as  the  climatic  conditions 
were  concerned,  any  one  of  them  might  have  been  chosen. 
But  several  of  these  peaks  are  almost  inaccessible  except  to 
daring  climbers,  and  others,  although  accessible  even  to 
horses,  were  too  far  from  any  inhabited  point. 

Pike's  Peak  was  found,  oh  examination,  to  be  the  most 
eligible,  possessing  peculiar  advantages  over  all  others.  It 
is  on  the  end  of  a  spur  of  the  range  and  overtops  any  peak 
within  fifty  miles.  It  is  very  easy  of  access,  pack-mules  and 
equestrians  easily  reaching  the  extreme  summit. 

The  object  of  establishing  the  station  on  the  summit  of  the 
peak  was  to  study  the  constitution  of  the  upper  stratum  of  the 
atmosphere.  A  great  many  observations  at  heights  varying 
from  one  to  three  miles  above  the  sea  have  been  made  at 
different  times  and  at  different  places  by  means  of  balloons, 
but  such  observations,  although  furnishing  very  interesting 
data,  are  of  very  little  practical  value. 

Now  Pike's  Peak  is  two  and  three-quarters  miles  above 
the  level  of  the  sea,  and  observations  taken  there  would  be 
many  and  continuous. 

It  has  been  known  for  many  years  that  there  are  upper 


SIGNAL   STATION   ON    PIKK'S   PEAK.  ^3 

currents  in  the  atmosphere  moving  generally  from  the  West. 
This  was  determined  by  the  balloon  observations  before 
alluded  to,  and  by  occasional  observations  taken  on  the  tops 
of  mountains,  but  more  particularly  by  noting  the  drift  of 
clouds,  such  as  the  cirrus  variety,  which  prevail  only  in  the 
upper  regions.  It  was  believed  that  the  summit  of  the  peak 
was  high  enough  to  be  in  this  current. 

Of  course  there  were  also  many  other  problems,  interesting 
and  important,  which  it  was  hoped  this  station  would  solve. 

The  first  step  was  to  look  at  the  ground,  and  in  July  two 
observers  of  the  signal  service  were  sent  from  Washington 
to  Colorado  Springs.  Mr.  George  Boehmer,  later  of  the 
Smithsonian  Institute,  was  one,  and  I  was  the  other.  When 
we  arrived  at  Colorado  Springs  we  rented  an  office,  and 
prepared  for  a  trip  to  the  summit. 

There  were  two  routes  to  the  top  of  the  peak.  One  steep 
and  tiresome  trail  about  nine  miles  in  length  led  from 
Manitou,  the  celebrated  watering-place,  from  which  a  railway 
to  the  top  of  the  peak  was  completed  in  1891.  The  other  trail 
was  much  longer,  across  the  foot-hills  from  Colorado  Springs, 
up  the  Bear  Creek  Canon  for  eight  or  nine  miles  to  Mystic 
Lake,  thence  through  the  timber  and,  above  it,  along  the 
bare  and  rocky  ground  to  the  summit. 

Boehmer  and  I  started  to  walk  up  to  the  peak,  taking  with 
us  a  burro  to  carry  our  coats  and  some  necessary  camping 
supplies.  It  was  a  beautiful  day,  with  such  fresh  and  pure 
air  as  one  meets  with  nowhere  but  in  mountain  regions,  and 
we  felt  that  we  could  walk  to  the  summit  with  the  greatest  of 
ease. 

That  was  our  first  mistake.  Colorado  Springs,  our  starting- 
point,  is  about  six  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  or  nearly  as 
high  as  the  summit  of  Mount  Washington,  the  highest  of  the 
White  Mountains,  and  you  know  that  the  air  is  more  and 
more  rarefied  as  you  ascend  above  sea-level. 

Our  lungs  were  not  used  to  this  air,  and  we  had  hardly 
started  before  we  were  compelled  to  stop  and  rest.  Indeed, 


124  SIGNAL   STATION   ON   PIKE'S   PEAK. 

the  journey  was  a  constant  succession  of  rests,  and  it  was 
high  noon  before  we  reached  the  mouth  of  Bear  Creek  Canon, 
where  the  real  ascent  begins. 

From  this  point  the  way  is  up,  up,  without  cessation.  The 
trail  was  a  mere  foot-path,  crossing  and  recrossing  the  shallow 
creek  twenty-one  times  in  eight  miles,  and  for  the  entire 
distance  hemmed  in  by  lofty  mountains  from  one  to  five 
thousand  feet  in  height.  It  is  a  beautiful  stretch  of  scenery. 

It  was  quite  dark  before  we  reached  the  lake,  which  we 
afterwards  called  Mystic  L,ake,  and  camped  for  the  night. 
This  little  sheet  of  water  is  only  a  few  acres  in  area,  and  is  as 
placid  as  glass,  having  no  visible  inlet  or  outlet.  By  a  simple 
calculation  with  an  aneroid  barometer,  we  found  the  elevation 
of  this  lake  to  be  about  ten  thousand  feet  above  sea-level. 
That  meant  that  we  had  over  four  thousand  feet  more  to 
climb,  and  nearly  five  miles  more  to  walk. 

I  shall  certainly  never  forget  this  night,  the  first  I  had  ever 
spent  in  the  open  air  of  the  wilderness,  although  I  had  had 
some  experience  on  Mount  Washington  in  the  spring.  It 
seemed  so  far  away  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  the  silence  was 
so  profound,  the  starry  sky  so  sparkling,  and  the  lowering 
mountains  which  surrounded  the  lake  so  massive  and  gloomy. 

After  awhile  I  fell  asleep,  and  it  seemed  only  about  an 
hour  before  I  was  awakened  by  Boehmer  and  informed  that 
it  was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  that  if  we  wanted  to 
see  the  sunrise  from  the  peak  we  must  lose  no  time.  I  was  in 
favor  of  postponing  the  trip,  but  Boehmer,  more  enthusiastic, 
dragged  me  upon  my  feet,  and  away  we  went,  stumbling  up 
the  steep  path  in  the  darkness.  It  was  a  toilsome  journey. 

Although  it  was  in  the  month  of  July,  it  was  excessively 
cold  and  raw,  and  we  shivered  and  shook  as  we  stood  on  the 
bleak  summit  and  looked  out  toward  the  east,  in  which  the 
day  was  beginning  to  break. 

Above  our  heads  the  sky  was  clear  and  starlit ;  but 
beneath  our  feet,  stretching  out  for  a  hundred  miles,  lay  a 
bank  of  snowy  clouds  looking  like  a  frozen  ocean.  Away 


SIGNAL   STATION   ON   PIKE'S   PEAK.  125 

off  in  the  east  a  narrow  rim  of  gold  appeared,  and  when  a 
handbreadth  of  the  sun  arose  the  ocean  began  to  move.  The 
billowy  clouds  gently  rose  and  fell  while  athwart  them  the 
sun  shot  long  arrows  of  gold  and  silver  light.  It  was  a 
gorgeous  and  impressive  sight,  but  it  did  not  last  more  than 
five  minutes.  The  mass  of  clouds  dissipated  as  the  sun  rose 
higher,  and  in  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  the  sky  was 
entirely  clear. 

The  view  was  magnificent.  In  the  west  the  great  main 
range  of  the  Rockies,  two  hundred  miles  away,  loomed  up 
with  snowy  heads ;  in  the  north  lay  Denver,  seventy-five 
miles  distant,  while  away  beyond  was  a  white  speck  which 
we  knew  to  be  Cheyenne,  in  Wyoming.  In  the  south  Pueblo 
lay  on  the  plain,  and  almost  at  our  feet  Colorado  Springs,  in 
which  it  seemed  as  if  we  might  have  cast  a  stone,  while  away 
beyond  stretched  the  great  Colorado  plains,  with  the  Platte 
River  winding  through  them  like  a  silver  thread. 

The  trip  down  to  the  Springs  was  made  in  a  very  short 
time,  and  by  noon  we  were  safe  in  our  office,  and  completely 
prostrated.  The  report  which  we  sent  to  the  chief  signal 
officer  was  truthful,  but  dispiriting.  We  were  perfectly 
willing  to  go  up  on  the  peak  and  take  observations,  but  how  ? 
A  house  was  necessary,  and  where  was  the  house  to  come 
from  ?  The  chief  signal  officer,  who  knew  nothing  about  the 
difficulties  in  the  way,  replied  to  the  report  by  sending  out 
three  men,  with  directions  for  us  five  to  build  the  house 
ourselves ! 

Fancy  our  predicament !  Five  men,  not  one  of  whom 
knew  anything  about  building,  all  from  the  East,  expected  to 
go  up  into  an  altitude  of  fourteen  thousand  feet  and  build  a 
house  !  It  was  a  preposterous  idea,  but  Boehmer,  who  was 
the  observer-in-charge  of  the  party,  prepared  to  obey  orders. 

We  purchased  for  each  man  one  pick,  one  shovel,  one 
trowel,  one  axe,  one  hammer,  and  then  laid  in  a  full  camping 
outfit  for  the  party,  including  a  large  A  tent.  The  supplies 
and  provisions  loaded  down  five  pack  animals,  and  as  each 


126  SIGNAL   STATION   ON    PIKE'S   PEAK. 

man  was  mounted  we  made  quite  a  cavalcade  as  we  started 
out  on  our  foolish  venture. 

We  travelled  up  the  Bear  Creek  trail  and  pitched  our  camp 
in  a  canon  just  below  timber-line,  and  about  two  miles  from 
the  peak,  and  the  next  day  we  lugged  our  tent  up  to  the 
summit,  and  that  was  as  near  as  we  ever  came  to  building  the 
house.  The  chief  signal  officer  had  a  vague  sort  of  an  idea 
that  we  might  build  a  log  house  of  some  kind,  not  knowing 
that  the  timber  was  two  miles  away.  We  did  build  a 
log  house,  but  it  was  in  the  canon  where  we  had  our  camp, 
and  it  was  a  very  substantial  affair,  but  would  not  have 
answered  at  all  for  winter  quarters. 

Here  we  lived  for  a  month  or  so,  while  Boehmer  was 
explaining  to  the  chief  signal  officer  that  it  was  an 
impossibility  for  us  to  build  a  log  house,  or  indeed  a  house 
of  any  kind,  on  the  summit  in  any  time  less  than  a  year  or  two. 

Finally,  Lieutenant  Jackson,  the  disbursing  officer  of  the 
service,  came  out  from  Washington  to  see  what  the  trouble 
was.  He  went  up  on  the  peak,  looked  at  it  about  five  minutes, 
and  decided  that  the  project  was  absurd.  If  the  house  was 
built  at  all,  it  must  be  by  skilled  mechanics.  So  a  contract 
was  given  out  to  a  builder  in  Denver,  and  the  house  was  built 
inside  of  four  or  five  weeks. 

The  daily  routine  of  observations  in  the  signal  service  at 
that  time  included  seven  observations  of  the  instruments. 
The  first  observation  had  to  be  taken  at  about  half-past  five 
in  the  morning,  and  the  last  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening. 
In  addition  to  the  observations,  there  was,  of  course,  the  usual 
amount  of  office  work,  but  not  more  than  enough  to  keep  one 
man  steadily  employed. 

The  telegraph  line  was,  however,  our  greatest  trouble.  It 
extended  from  Colorado  Springs  to  the  summit,  following  the 
trail  to  the  timber-line,  and  then  made  a  bee-line  for  the  peak. 

This  line,  erected  by  private  contract,  was  of  thin  and 
inferior  wire,  and  very  poorly  constructed.  Trees  were  used 
for  supports  for  the  greatest  part  of  the  route,  and  they  were 


SIGNAL   STATION   ON    PIKE'S   PEAK.  127 

continually  falling  down.  Above  the  timber-line,  the  wire, 
being  exposed  to  the  air,  would  become  encrusted  with  frost 
until  it  was  fully  six  inches  in  diameter. 

When  the  wind  blew  strongly,  which  was  nearly  an 
every-day  occurrence,  the  wire  would  sway  backward  and 
forward  until  it  snapped.  The  only  way  to  obviate  these 
breaks  was  to  thoroughly  insulate  the  wire  and  lay  it  on  the 
ground.  When  the  line  broke  some  one  had  to  go  out  and 
repair  it,  and  the  task  generally  fell  to  me.  It  was  not  only 
disagreeable,  but  dangerous. 

The  most  disagreeable  portion  of  our  life  was,  of  course, 
the  monotony.  No  words  can  describe  the  loneliness  of  such 
a  life  ;  with  the  exception  of  ourselves,  there  was  not  a  living 
thing  in  sight.  Of  plant  life,  even  in  summer,  there  was 
none,  not  a  shrub  or  a  speck  of  moss,  and  in  the  winter,  when 
the  entire  mountain  range  was  covered  with  snow,  the  scene 
was  desolation  itself. 

Winter  set  in  with  the  utmost  rigor  about  the  first  of 
November,  although  even  summer  on  the  peak  would  have 
been  called  winter  in  other  localities.  Snow-storms  were  of 
almost  daily  occurrence,  and  the  temperature  fell  steadily. 
By  the  tenth  of  November  the  thermometer  touched  zero,  and 
from  that  time  it  was  intensely  cold.  The  wind  began  to  blow 
with  great  velocity,  fifty,  sixty  and  seventy  miles  an  hour. 
The  cold  and  the  snow  were  not  so  much  to  be  dreaded,,  had 
it  not  been  for  the  wind.  When  it  was  calm  and  clear,  no 
matter  how  cold,  we  thought  nothing  of  taking  a  stroll  in  our 
shirt-sleeves ;  but  when  the  wind  blew  we  could  not  put  on 
enough  wraps  to  keep  out  the  cold. 

Christmas  week  was  very  stormy,  but  we  managed  to 
celebrate  the  holidays  by  gorging  ourselves  rather  more  than 
usual.  On  New  Year's  day  there  began  a  storm  of  seven 
days'  duration,  and  on  the  sixth  day  the  telegraph  line  broke 
somewhere  —  where,  we  had  no  means  of  judging.  After 
breakfast  I  started  out  to  find  the  break,  and  repair  it. 

It  was  about  ten  degrees  below  zero  when  I  started,  a  light 


128 


SIGNAL   STATION   ON   PIKE'S   PEAK. 


snow  falling  and  a  brisk  wind  of  twenty  miles  an  hour  blowing 
from  the  west.  The  temperature  soon  began  to  fall  and  the 
wind  to  blow  a  perfect  gale.  In  mending  the  break,  which 
occurred  near  the  timber-line,  I  was  obliged  to  remove  my  thick 
lamb's  wool  gloves,  and  when  I  replaced  them  I  was  painfully 
conscious  that  both  hands  were  frozen. 

On  my  way  back  to  the  peak  I  had  a  terrible  struggle 
against  the  gale,  and  was  nearly  exhausted  when  I  came  in 
sight  of  the  station.  There  the  trail  was  very  steep,  and  I 
went  up  literally  on  all  fours.  Staggering  to  the  door,  I  fell 
into  the  room  at  full  length  in  a  swoon. 

I  did  not  lose  my  fingers,  but  my  sphere  of  usefulness  was 
over  there,  and  in  a  short  time  I  bade  farewell  to  the  peak. 
As  a  souvenir  of  my  experience  I  carried  one  of  my  hands  in 
a  sling  for  more  than  a  year,  the  fingers  of  which  tingle  even 
now  with  each  recurring  winter. 

JAMES  H.  SMITH. 


IN    THE    SOUTHWEST. 


The   Mariposa   Grove. 


The   Big  Trees   of  California. 

The  Big  Trees  of  California  represent  the  largest  growth 
known  in  the  vegetable  kingdom  of  the  world,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  a  species  of  the  Kucalyptus  of  Australia. 

The  Grizzly  Giant,  one  of  the  most  famous  of  the  trees 
in  the  Mariposa  Grove,  has  its  first  limb  one  hundred  feet 
from  the  roots.  This  limb  is  six  and  one-half  feet  in  diameter. 
Nine  feet  from  the  ground  the  tree  is  twenty-seven  feet  in 
diameter,  and  below  that  height  its  thickness  increases.  The 
tree  stands  grim  and  grizzly,  far  apart  from  any  of  its  com- 
panions, in  sublime  and  solitary  grandeur. 

All  the  largest  and  most  prominent  of  the  Big  Trees  have 
their  distinguishing  titles.  Each  of  the  states  has  its  repre- 
sentative among  the  names ;  and  many  of  America's  most 
famous  men  are  honored  in  the  appellations.  General  Grant 
has  a  namesake,  as  grim  and  stolid  as  the  great  general, 
who  was  present,  I  believe,  at  the  christening  of  the  tree. 

One  of  the  greatest  of  the  trees  lies  fallen  on  the  earth,  and 
is  called  the  Fallen  Monarch.  It  is  estimated  that  the  Fallen 
Monarch  was  about  four  hundred  feet  high,  and  nearly  forty 
feet  in  diameter.  The  bark  and  sap  are  now  gone,  but  the 
tree  still  measures  nearly  thirty  feet  in  diameter  as  it  lies 
prone  on  the  earth.  A  long  ladder  is  used  in  mounting  to  its 
crest. 

The  very  largest  of  the  Big  Trees  of  California  are  in  what 
is  known  as  the  Calaveras  Grove,  which  is  owned  by  private 
parties.  Among  these  there  is  a  dead  and  fallen  tree,  which 
is  supposed  to  have  been  forty  feet  in  diameter,  and  four 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  high.  It  is  estimated  that  it  has  been 
prostrate  a  thousand  years.  The  sap  and  bark  of  this  tree  are 
gone,  but  the  diameter  of  its  trunk  still  measures  thirty-four 
feet. 

The  tallest   tree  standing  is  called   the    New  York  tree ; 


THE    BIG   TRESS   OF    CALIFORNIA. 


it  is  thirty  feet  in  diameter,  and  three  hundred  and  sixty-six 
feet  high.  There  is  another  tree,  not  so  tall,  which  is  thirty- 
seven  feet  in  diameter,  and  the  bark  alone  measures  thirty-one 
inches  in  thickness. 

In  the  Mariposa  Grove  there  is  a  tree  known  as  the 
Telescope.  The  trunk  is  a  hollow  cylinder,  open  at  the  top, 
about  one  hundred  feet  away.  The  cavity  at  the  base  is 
large  enough  to  shelter  half  a  dozen  men  on  horseback.  One 
of  the  largest  of  the  fallen  trees  is  also  hollow.  One  may 

ride  in  at  the  lower 
end,  and  go  out  at  a 
knot-hole  one  hun- 
dred feet  up  the 
trunk. 

One  of  the  most 
remarkable  of  these 
gigantic  trees  stands 
directly  over  the 
broad  roadway  which 
has  been  constructed 
through  the  grove. 
There  is  an  archway 
for  the  drive,  cut 
through  the  base  of  the  very  tree  itself.  This  archway,  which 
was  bored  and  burned  through,  is  some  ten  feet  in  diameter 
and  twelve  feet  high,  and  on  each  side  there  yet  remains  ten 
feet  of  solid  wall  of  wood  which  supports  the  tree.  Into  the 
archway,  under  the  vertical  trunk  of  the  tree,  a  stage-coach 
drawn  by  four  horses  may  be  driven,  and  can  find  there  secure 
shelter  from  rain  or  storm  above. 

There  are  in  all  some  six  hundred  of  these  Big  Trees  in 
the  Mariposa  Grove.  Twenty-five  hundred  acres  of  land 
have  been  withdrawn  from  sale  by  the  general  government, 
and  they  are  now  kept  as  a  National  and  World's  Park,  held 
in  trust  forever  by  the  state  of  California  for  the  people  of  the 
world.  The  reservations  include  the  Yosemite  Valley. 


THE    BIG   TREKS   OF   CALIFORNIA.  133 

The  park  is  usually  inaccessible  during  the  winter  and 
spring,  in  consequence  of  the  deep  snowfall  there,  but  it  is 
visited  during  the  summer  and  autumn  by  tourists  from  all 
parts  of  the  world,  and  especially  by  people  of  the  Old 
World,  who  find  these  trees  of  very  great  interest. 

The  wood  of  these  big  trees  is  a  variety  of  the  cedar.  The 
Redwood  of  the  Pacific  is  of  the  same  family.  Some  of  the 
trees  standing  in  California  are  estimated  to  be  between  two 
and  three  thousand  years  old. 

The  heart  of  the  tree  is  thought  to  be  indestructible  by 
the  decay  that  is  usual  in  other  woods  exposed  to  atmospheric 
influences.  This  certainly  does  not  rot  under  ordinary  climatic 
action.  Furthermore,  the  wood  does  not  shrink  like  other 
timbers,  since  it  contracts  from  the  ends  and  not  from  the 
sides  or  edges,  as  is  usual  with  other  varieties. 

Specimens  of  these  trees  are  not  allowed  to  be  taken  by 
tourists  from  the  National  Reservations.  Not  even  a  twig,  or 
shrub,  or  flower  is  permitted  to  be  plucked.  Policemen  and 
guards  are  stationed  throughout  the  parks  to  prevent  spolia- 
tion by  tourists.  There  live,  however,  upon  the  reservation 
licensed  parties  who  have  for  sale  the  seeds  of  this  species  of 
wonder- wood.  Foreigners  are  usually  the  heaviest  purchasers. 

Many  young  trees  of  the  Big  Tree  species  have  been 
started  in  various  parts  of  California,  and  are  now  growing 
thriftily.  They  are  found  in  the  streets  of  L,os  Angeles,  San 
Bernardino  and  other  southern  California  cities.  Though  it 
might  be  supposed  that  a  tree  whose  age  is  reckoned  so  great 
would  be  of  very  slow  growth,  the  young  Sequoias  are  found 
to  grow  quite  rapidly.  The  Calif ornians  of  one  thousand 
years  hence  may  see  them  in  their  full  prime. 

M.  V.  MOORE. 


The  Lumbermen   of  the  Sierras. 


The  Lumbermen  of  the  Sierras. 

Travelling  northward  among  the  mountains  from  Glen- 
brook  on  Lake  Tahoe,  we  were  appalled  by  the  desolation 
which  the  lumbermen  have  left  in  their  wake.  Clearing  a 
tract  of  every  sound  tree,  they  remove  to  another  locality,  only 
to  leave  behind  them  again  the  hastily-built  shanty  which  has 
sheltered  them,  and  a  litter  of  chips  and  decaying  boughs. 

We  rode  for  days  through  regions  stripped  bare,  and 
strewn  with  fragments,  where  broad  forests  once  existed. 
Here  and  there  a  pine  or  fir,  that  has  been  rejected  on  account 
»of  its  infirmity,  stands  alone,  and  seems  to  grieve  for  its  lost 
companions. 

As  often  as  they  move,  the  lumbermen  build  a  new  house 
and  furniture,  taking  only  the  cooking  utensils  and  bedding 
with  them.  The  old  house  is  left  open  to  be  blown  down  by 
the  wind,  crushed  by  the  heavy  winter  snows,  or  occupied  by 
anybody  who  comes  along.  Both  the  house  and  furniture 
are  frail,  and  the  latter  consists  in  most  cases  of  nothing 
more  than  two  or  three  benches  and  a  table  made  of  rough 
timber.  The  house  and  its  occupants  are  collectively  called 
a  camp. 

We  put  up  one  night  at  Marlette's  camp,  which  is  under 
Prospect  Peak.  The  men  had  not  come  home  when  we 
arrived,  but  the  cook  was  busy  preparing  supper.  He  was 
a  white  man ;  most  cooks  in  the  Sierras  are  Chinese. 

We  had  pitched  our  tents,  and  were  waiting  for  our  own 
ration  of  bacon  and  bread,  when  a  great  clatter  of  hoofs  and 
voices  seemed  to  shake  the  mountains.  There  was  a  break 
in  a  neighboring  wood,  and  out  of  this  sprang  a  score  of 
men,  some  mounted  and  some  unmounted,  who  came  toward 
us  with  the  wildest  yells,  and  at  the  greatest  speed.  A  parcel 
of  schoolboys  let  out  on  a  brisk  autumn  evening  could  not 


136  THE   UJMBERMEN  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

have  been  gladder  than  these  big,  rough  lumbermen  were  at 
the  end  of  their  day's  labor. 

After  dark,  we  went  into  the  cabin  in  which  the  men  were 
eating.  The  long  table  was  covered  with  dishes,  and  around 
it  gathered  as  hungry  a  crew  as  ever  relished  unlimited  beef- 
steak, potatoes  and  onions.  It  was  an  excellent  supper. 
Beside  the  more  substantial  things,  there  were  pickles,  fresh 
butter,  hot  bread,  cake  and  tea.  There  were  candles,  too, 
and  a  good  deal  of  them  must  have  got  into  the  food,  as  one 
was  stuck  into  the  spout  of  a  coffee-pot,  another  into  the  neck 
of  a  syrup-bottle,  and  another  into  a  crack  of  the  table. 
Nobody  minded  this,  however,  and  everybody  ate  with  the 
appetite  of  a  giant. 

When  supper  was  over  and  the  table  cleared,  a  fiddle  was 
brought  out,  a  very  old  and  tuneless  fiddle  indeed,  but  its 
squeaking  afforded  the  company  vast  satisfaction,  and  stirred 
them  to  some  extraordinary  antics,  which,  as  a  matter  of 
courtesy  rather  than  of  fact,  were  called  a  dance.  Some  of 
the  quieter  men  retired  into 'corners,  and  read,  or  wrote  letters 
home. 

Home  seemed  to  be  very  far  away  as  we  left  the  cabin  and 
saw  its  little  windows  shining  ruddily  in  the  dark  night. 
The  snowy  peaks  were  all  around,  looking  terribly  lonely  and 
massive  under  the  starlit  California  sky ;  the  pines  were 
densely  black  ;  our  own  camp-fire  cast  off  mysterious  wreaths 
of  smoke ;  but  the  little  settlement  of  men  took  some  of  the 
sadness  away  from  the  scene. 

The  lumbermen  work  in  the  mountains  until  winter  drives 
them  to  the  lowlands.  Their  wages  are  about  fifty  dollars 
and  board  a  month.  Many  Chinamen  are  also  employed, 
but  they  are  not  treated  so  well  as  the  whites.  They  live  in 
camps  by  themselves,  and  rude  as  the  cabins  of  the  Americans 
are,  theirs  are  ruder.  Four  or  five  logs  laid  on  top  of  one 
another  make  the  walls  of  John  Chinaman's  mountain  house, 
and  three  holes  answer  for  door,  chimney  and  window. 

Various  devices  are  used   in  transporting  the  wood  from 


THE   I,UMBERMEN   OF   THE   SIERRAS.  137 

the  mountains  to  the  sawmills.  I  was  riding  through  the 
Truckee  Canon  one  day,  when  a  cloud  of  spray  rose  from  the 
river  above  the  shrubs  on  the  brink,  and  I  was  in  some 
perplexity  as  to  the  cause  of  it  before  I  discovered  a  sign- 
board cautioning  passers-by  to  look  out  for  the  logs.  A 
trough  or  slide  extended  down  the  canon-wall,  which  was 
almost  perpendicular ;  it  was  bound  with  iron  bands  that 
shone  like  burnished  silver,  and  down  this  the  logs  were 
shot  with  great  velocity  into  the  water,  which  floated  them  to 
Truckee  town.  The  fact  that  the  trough  crossed  the  road, 
and  that  a  traveller  might  be  much  startled  by  the  sight  of  a 
pine-tree,  four  or  five  feet  in  diameter,  suddenly  rushing 
under  his  horse's  nose,  made  no  difference  to  the  lumbermen, 
who  by  this  simple  contrivance  were  saved  the  trouble  of 
hauling  the  wood. 

When  a  wagon  is  used  for  conveying  logs  it  is  of  the 
peculiar  kind  shown  in  our  illustration,  which  represents  a 
load  of  some  seventeen  thousand  cubic  feet,  the  largest  ever 
transported  in  California.  The  wheels  of  the  wagon  are 
circular  sections  of  the  pine,  convex  in  shape  and  bound  with 
broad  iron  tires.  The  draught  animals  are  oxen. 

The  flumes  through  which  the  wood  from  the  sawmills 
is  floated  to  the  plains  are  V  shaped  troughs.  Sometimes 
they  are  laid  down  the  mountainside,  and  then  they  are 
bridged  over  deep  chasms  on  trestle-work  supports.  One  of 
them  is  over  forty  miles  long,  and  cost  nearly  three  hundred 
thousand  dollars  to  build.  The  current  of  the  water  is 
considerable,  and  takes  the  wood  from  the  summit  to  the 
railway  at  the  rate  of  thirty-five  miles  an  hour. 

The  large  number  of  men,  the  enormous  capital  and  the 
ingenious  appliances  used  make  the  lumber  business  of  the 
Sierras  very  interesting ;  but  no  one  can  help  regretting  the 
havoc  it  is  causing  in  the  lovely  country  around  Lake  Tahoe. 

WIIJJAM  H. 


Echo  Mountain. 


A  Road   of  the   Sierras. 

We  looked  doubtfully  at  the  strange,  white  chariot,  and 
then  at  the  apparently  perpendicular  line  up  Echo  Mountain, 
in  southern  California,  where  the  cable  slid  over  its  succession 
of  wheels.  Should  we  venture  on  the  ascent?  The  cable 
looked  small  and  the  mountain  large,  and  the  end  of  cable, 
track  and  journey  was  hidden  in  the  clouds. 

But  for  the  fear  of  ridicule  some  of  us  would  have  refused 
to  go  higher  ;  we  could  so  easily  have  returned  to  the  valley 
below  in  the  same  electric  cars  that  brought  us  up  to  the  foot 
of  the  cable  road  !  But  the  driver  or  conductor  of  the  white 
chariot  was  waiting ;  so  we  shut  our  eyes  and  stepped  into 
one  of  the  seats. 

The  conductor  gave  a  signal,  and  suddenly  the  bottom 
began  to  drop  out  of  everything,  and  we  to  rise  over  the 
tops  of  things  in  general.  Awful  canons,  big  mountains  and 
mighty  plains  rolled  out  beneath  us  ;  there  seemed  no  reason 
why  we  should  not  continue  to  rise  forever. 

Up  and  up  and  up  !  Weights  seemed  on  my  eyelids  ;  that 
horrible  cable  incline  appeared  to  run  from  my  eyes  to  my 
heart ;  I  secretly  longed  to  lie  down  on  the  floor,  and  I  am 
sure  the  others  felt  similar  sensations. 

"  We  are  now  approaching  the  steepest  part  of  the  grade, 
a  rise  of  sixty-two  feet  in  a  hundred,"  came  soothingly  to  our 
ears  ;  and  the  dreadful  slant  seemed  to  become  truly  perpen- 
dicular. Yet  we  held  to  our  pretence  of  decent  tranquillity, 
and  were  pulled  steadily  and  gently  over  the  crest  of  the 
mountain  to  the  level  top.  There  our  chariot  stopped,  as 
noiselessly  as  it  had  started,  and  we  stepped  out  and  looked 
straight  down  from  Echo  Mountain  to  the  world  below. 

I  have  seen  some  of  the  most  famous  and  beautiful  valleys 
of  the  world,  but  they  all  seem  tame  compared  with  the 


140  A   ROAD   OF  THE   SIERRAS. 

great,  glowing  plain  of  tender  green  and  soft  purple  which 
stretched  its  groves  of  southern  fruit  out  to  a  golden,  shim- 
mering, distant  something  which  was,  we  knew,  the  Pacific 
Ocean.  Santa  Catalina  Island,  sixty-five  miles  away,  shone 
bright  and  clear  in  purple. 

After  we  visited  the  menagerie  on  the  top  of  the  mountain, 
we  gave  ourselves  up  to  gazing  on  the  beautiful  scenery,  and 
to  watching  the  white  chariots  skim  swiftly  up  to  the  summit, 
or  drop  noiselessly  over  the  verge. 

Though  this  Echo  Mountain  cable  road  is  said  to  be  the 
steepest,  it  is  considered  the  safest  mountain  railway  of  the 
world.  The  contrivance  is  practically  a  great  elevator.  Its 
ascending  and  descending  coaches,  welded  to  the  cable  itself, 
precisely  balance,  and  pass  each  other  at  a  given  point  by 
automatic  switches. 

As  the  cable  has  been  tested  to  a  hundred  tons'  strain,  the 
white  chariots  when  loaded  to  their  utmost  capacity  are 
small  weights  for  it.  Should  anything  go  wrong  with  the 
machinery  the  chariots  would  simply  stop,  and  the  occupants 
be  enabled  to  dismount  at  their  leisure.  Though  the  structure 
looks  quite  unsafe,  it  is  really  perfectly  guarded  against 
disaster. 

In  the  power-house  the  big  wheels  and  revolving  cable 
turn  slowly,  governed  by  the  dynamo,  but  the  primary  force 
or  motor  of  the  cable  road  is  water.  Running  through  a  six- 
inch  pipe,  and  finally  through  an  inch-and-a-half  nozzle  upon 
a  wheel,  it  transmits  a  pressure  so  enormous  that  one  might 
better  go  down  the  incline  without  a  cable  than  stand  in  front 
of  that  harmless-looking  nozzle.  That  inch  and  a  half  of  water 
is  capable  of  going  through  the  body  of  a  man. 

We  watched  the  light  go  out  of  the  landscape  and  fade 
over  the  Pacific  as  we  sat  on  the  piazza,  of  the  pretty  hotel, 
which,  with  all  its  refinements  of  modern  luxury,  must  have 
travelled  up  piecemeal  in  the  white  chariots.  It  now  sits 
perched  on  the  very  verge  of  space,  a  kind  of  stationary 
white  chariot,  itself.  Round  on  the  other  side  were  softly 


A   ROAD   OF   THE   SIERRAS.  141 

flying  the  echoes  which  give  the  mountain  its  name,  but  on 
our  side  it  was  very  still. 

A  little  higher  up,  on  a  rounded  knoll,  gleamed  the 
metallic  walls  of  the  observatory,  which  we  meant  to  visit 
after  we  had  seen  the  great  search-light,  on  the  platform  just 
below  us.  That  long  finger  of  light  had  come  reaching 
through  our  windows  down  in  the  valley  many  a  night.  Its 
beam  makes  bright  the  streets  of  Los  Angeles,  twenty-five 
miles  away,  and  carries  a  ray  to  distant  Redondo,  on  the 
Pacific  itself. 

Now  its  ray  of  light  went  sweeping  across  the  plain  below, 
resting  here  and  there  where  a  red  light  signalled  for  a 
visit.  Down  below,  that  beam  had  almost  dazed  us  with  its 
brightness ;  here  we  could  stare  into  the  very  eye  of  the 
monster  without  blinking,  for  the  rays  do  not  focus  so  near. 

Away,  back  and  forth,  went  the  finger,  now  stretching  out 
into  a  full  band  of  light,  now  narrowing  to  so  fine  a  line  that 
it  could  be  but  barely  perceived.  Some  spectators  with  inter- 
cepting mirrors  caught  and  flashed  a  ray  here  and  a  ray  there, 
into  the  shadows  of  the  canons,  on  the  observatory  roof,  or 
back  to  the  hotel  piazza. 

From  watching  the  light  we  went  to  the  observatory,  which 
contains  a  beautiful  sixteen-inch  glass.  The  perfect  clearness 
of  the  atmosphere  makes  southern  California  the  paradise  of 
astronomers.  We  had  looked  through  larger  glasses,  but  not 
at  .such  a  height,  and  the  elevation  of  thirty-five  hundred  feet 
above  the  murky  ai*  of  the  sea-level  seemed  to  bring  the 
stars  perceptibly  neaier. 

We  had  beheld  the  sea  and  the  dry  land  and  the  heavens  ; 
there  was  nothing  else  but  the  wider  land  of  dreams  to  explore. 
Since  we  planned  to  come  forth  again  at  sunrise,  we  took 
a  parting  glance  at  the  constellation  of  cities  on  the  plain  at 
our  feet.  It  was  a  fascinating  sight,  even  after  the  other 
constellations,  and  a  significant  one  as  well ;  we  could  easily 
forecast  the  merging  of  twinkling  city  with  twinkling  city, 
and  imagine  the  time  when  one  great  city,  stretching  from 


142  A   ROAD   OF   THE   SIERRAS. 

mountains  to  sea,  will  be  a  chief  glory  of  the  country  we  will 
still  call  great. 

An  unkind  fog  saddened  our  sunrise  the  next  morning,  so 
that  we  were  glad  to  console  ourselves  by  talking  with  a 
workman,  who  looked  over  the  terribly  beautiful  abyss  and 
said  wearily  that  folks  came  there  and  made  a  fuss  about  it, 
but  he  was  sure  he  didn't  see  why. 

At  last  we  turned  our  steps  toward  the  chariot,  which  was 
kindly  waiting  to  drop  us  over  the  brink.  This  time,  instead 
of  the  bottom  dropping  out  of  things,  it  was  the  top  of  every- 
thing which  rose  and  soared  away,  while  we  went  slipping 
down  through  space,  until  it  was  in  a  kind  of  wonder  that  we 
found  ourselves  above  the  ground  when  we  stopped. 

In  eight  minutes  we  were  among  the  ferns  and  oaks  of  the 
canon ;  in  another  fifteen  we  sped  between  the  fields  of  wild 
flowers ;  in  half  an  hour  more  we  stood  in  our  own  rose 
garden,  with  the  scent  of  the  orange  groves  heavy  about  us ; 
and  from  the  tropic  of  our  palms  and  bananas  and  lime  and 
lemon  we  could  gaze  straight  up  to  the  snowy  Sierras,  and 
mark  a  slender  white  line  cutting  the  purple  side,  the  route 
of  the  white  chariots. 

GRACE  ELI,ERY  CHANNING. 


California  Raisin-Making. 

Until  within  a  few  years  all  the  raisins  consumed  in  the 
United  States  were  imported  from  Europe.  It  was  supposed 
that  they  could  not  be  produced  in  this  country  because  its 
climate  was  not  warm  enough  and  dry  enough,  for  a  season 
of  sufficient  length  for  the  purpose.  But  when,  in  1849, 
California  was  invaded  by  American  gold-hunters,  they  not 
only  found  the  largest  and  finest  grapes  growing  they  had 
ever  seen,  but  discovered  that  the  surplus  quantities  left  on 
the  vines,  after  ripening,  became  raisins  ! 

These  raisins  were  not,  however,  of  the  best  quality,  for 
the  vines  on  which  they  grew  were  such  as  the  Franciscan 
fathers  brought  with  them  from  Spain,  a  hundred  years 
before,  when  sent  among  the  native  Indians  who  then 
lived  on  this  Pacific  coast. 

But  enterprising  Americans,  aided  by  foreigners  from  the 
wine  and  raisin-making  countries  of  Europe,  imported  many 
varieties  of  the  best  kinds  of  vines  that  could  be  found. 
Among  these  were  the  white  Muscatels  and  Malagas,  from 
which  the  best  raisins  are  made. 

The  white  grapes  have  flourished  well,  especially  in 
southern  California,  where  the  long  warm  and  dry  seasons 
are  more  favorable  for  making  raisins  than  further  north. 
The  entire  absence  of  rain  for  the  six  continuous  months, 
May  to  November,  and  almost  complete  freedom  from  fogs 
or  dews  in  many  localities  during  the  ripening  and  drying 
season,  render  this  the  most  favorable  climate  in  the  world 
for  producing  raisins. 

The  grape-vine  here  is  not  staked  and  tied  up,  in  order  to 
keep  the  fruit  from  the  ground,  as  is  done  in  the  Middle  and 
Eastern  States.  It  begins  bearing  the  second  year  after 
planting  the  cuttings,  and  for  several  years  is  allowed  to 
trail  on  the  ground,  after  being  cut  back  each  season,  so  that 


144  CALIFORNIA    RAISIN-MAKING. 

the  fruit  hangs  very  low,  and  most  of  it  even  lies  upon  the 
ground.  It  is  believed  to  ripen  better  on  the  dry,  sandy  soil 
than  when  suspended  in  the  atmosphere,  which  is  always  cool 
at  night. 

As  the  roots  grow  older  the  main  stalk  of  each  is  trained 
to  a  tree  shape,  twelve  to  thirty  inches  high,  and  in  some  old 
vineyards  these  stumps  have  reached  a  diameter  of  from  six 
to  ten  inches.  The  stumps  are  trimmed  closely  every  winter 
or  early  spring,  and  from  their  tops  new  sprouts  spring  forth 
which  bear  the  next  crop  of  fruit.  The  yield  of  grapes  is 
enormous,  ranging  from  one  ton  to  two  or  three  tons  per  acre. 

Very  few  vineyardists  manufacture  their  grapes  either  into 
wine  or  raisins.  It  requires  more  knowledge,  skill  and  capital 
to  do  either  than  the  mere  farmer  generally  possesses.  But 
the  raisin-makers,  like  the  wine-makers,  generally  own  and 
cultivate  a  vineyard  of  from  one  hundred  to  one  thousand 
acres,  and  there  is  one  in  Los  Angeles  County  covering  five 
thousand  acres,  the  largest  in  the  world,  as  a  basis  of  opera- 
tions, and  in  addition  the  owners  buy  all  the  grapes  that  are 
raised  near  them  by  the  smaller  cultivators. 

Several  methods  of  drying  grapes  into  raisins  are  practised 
by  the  smaller  cultivators.  The  following  is  the  most  popular, 
and  may  be  seen  in  operation  at  almost  every  country  and 
village  house  in  southern  California.  Some  time  in  September 
or  October,  small  quantities  of  the  finest  Muscatel  grapes  are 
bought  at  one  cent  a  pound.  Some  of  the  bunches  weigh 
from  two  to  five  pounds,  so  large  that  they  have  to  be  cut  in 
pieces  to  dry. 

They  are  spread  out  as  thinly  as  possible,  no  bunch  on 
top  of  another,  on  some  sunny  porch  floor,  on  the  roof  of  a 
house  or  shed,  or  on  trays  made  of  laths  or  shakes,  as  the 
Calif ornians  call  the  redwood  clapboards,  and  placed  upon 
trestles  in  the  yard.  Here  they  lie  in  the  hot  sun  all  day 
long,  and  after  they  begin  to  color  and  shrink  are  generally 
covered  at  night  with  some  kind  of  canvas. 

In  two  or  three  weeks  the  bunches  are  carefully  turned 


CALIFORNIA   RAISIN-MAKING.  145 

over  and  allowed  to  continue  drying  for  another  two  or  three 
weeks,  until  they  are  thoroughly  colored  and  the  juice  has  all 
evaporated.  Thus  thousands  upon  thousands  of  families  are 
now  making  their  own  raisins  at  a  very  small  cost. 

But  now  for  the  way  in  which  raisins  are  made  to  sell. 
The  grape-grower,  if  he  cultivates  but  eight  or  ten  acres,  can, 


Raisin-Making. 

with  the  aid  of  wife  and  children,  gather  his  own  fruit  and 
haul  it  to  the  raisin-maker ;  but  if  he  is  a  man  of  means,  and 
manages  his  hundred  or  more  acres,  he  hires  a  force  of 
Chinamen,  who  with  crooked  pruning-knives  go  through 
the  vineyards,  clip  off  all  the  ripe  bunches  of  grapes  and 


146  CALIFORNIA    RAISIN-MAKING. 

place  them  carefully  on  shallow  trays  three  by  six  feet,  and 
four  inches  deep,  avoiding  the  possibility  of  bruising  them. 

These  trays,  when  filled,  are  gathered  up  and  loaded  into 
two-horse  spring-wagons  and  hauled  up  many  miles  into  level 
places  among  the  foot-hills  of  the  mountains  to  get  out  of  the 
danger  of  fogs  which  often  rise  late  in  the  season  on  the  lower 
plains. 

Here  from  fifty  to  one  hundred  acres  of  as  level  land  as  can 
be  found  has  been  scraped  and  rolled  smooth.  On  these 
fields  the  grapes  are  spread  upon  the  ground,  by  drawing  the 
bottom  from  each  tray  and  letting  them  drop  gently  on  their 
warm  bed.  They  are  thus  emptied  in  successions  of  rows, 
hundreds  of  feet  long  and  of  uniform  width,  from  dozens  of 
wagons  that  come  and  go  day  after  day,  from  every  direction. 

Such  grape-fields  resemble  an  immense  carpet  store,  where 
every  imaginable  pattern  of  goods  is  rolled  out  in  the  hope  of 
pleasing  some  fastidious  customer.  The  freshly-laid  rows 
present  a  light  green  shade  of  color.  Those  that  have  been 
down  a  few  weeks  have  a  mottled  appearance,  while  those 
that  are  about  dry  enough  to  come  up  have  a  deeper  and 
more  uniform  color. 

For  the  reason  that  the  dry  soil  retains  its  warmth  during 
the  night,  grapes  dry  quicker  on  the  ground  than  if  elevated 
on  boards,  and  they  also  more  completely  retain  their  flavor. 
In  two  weeks  the  smaller  bunches  are  ready  to  be  gathered 
up  and  the  larger  bunches  turned  over  so  as  to  be  dried  on 
the  under  side.  This  requires  two  weeks  longer,  when  they 
are  taken  up  also.  Then  follow  the  gleaners,  women  and 
children,  who  gather  up  all  the  loose  berries  that  have  fallen 
off.  These  are  sold  as  dried  grapes. 

When  the  later  crop  is  on  the  ground,  and  the  first  showers 
are  expected,  raisin-dryers  bring  upon  the  field  great  rolls  of 
oiled  Manila  paper  ;  and  at  night,  or  when  rain  is  threatened, 
this  paper  is  spread  upon  the  rows  of  grapes  for  the  purpose 
of  keeping  them  dry.  This  process  is  sometimes  continued 
until  late  in  December. 


CALIFORNIA   RAISIN-MAKING.  147 

The  dried  grapes  are  put  into  boxes  holding  about  a 
bushel,  and  hauled  to  the  packing-house,  where  they  are 
piled  on  top  of  each  other  as  high  as  the  ceiling  or  roof.  In 
the  course  of  eight  or  ten  days  the  slight  moisture  left  in 
some  of  them,  and  the  heat,  cause  them  to  sweat,  and  this 
moisture  so  permeates  the  whole  bulk  as  to  give  them  a  soft 
and  fresh  appearance.  They  are  then  ready  for  sorting  and 
boxing.  This  is  done  by  women  and  Chinamen,  seated,  forty 
or  fifty  in  a  room,  at  long  tables. 

To  each  is  emptied  as  needed  a  box  full  of  fruit ;  and 
alongside  of  each  are  placed  two  new,  clean  boxes,  into  one 
of  which  the  largest  and  most  perfect  bunches  are  packed, 
which  are  labelled  "  London  Layers,"  and  into  the  other  box 
the  smaller  and  less  perfect  bunches,  which  are  labelled 
simply  "Layers,"  or  as  some  California  raisin-makers  are 
now  taking  pride  in  stamping  them,  "California  Layers;" 
while  the  loose  berries  are  passed  through  a  windmill  and 
cleaned  of  their  stems  and  dust,  and  boxed  as  "Loose 
Muscatels."  Though  most  of  them  are  the  finest  berries  of 
the  crop,  they  sell  for  a  much  lower  price  than  those  adhering 
to  the  stems. 

Three  sizes  of  boxes  are  made,  one  to  hold  five  pounds, 
another  fifteen  pounds,  but  the  largest  number  to  hold  twenty 
pounds ;  and  as  the  boxes  are  filled  heaping  full  a  careful 
inspector  examines  and  weighs  each,  taking  out  any  surplus, 
and  passes  them  to  the  press-man,  who  places  on  the  lids  and 
puts  them  in  the  press,  where  they  are  gradually  squeezed 
down  and  the  lids  nailed  on. 

They  are  then  ready  to  be  shipped  to  their  Eastern  and 
Northern  markets  by  the  carload  —  about  one  thousand  boxes 
to  the  car.  But  as  they  are  not  considered  perishable  goods, 
like  oranges,  lemons  and  pears,  they  are  not  rushed  off, 
regardless  of  demand  or  prices.  The  consequence  is,  they 
have  a  steady  as  well  as  ready  sale  at  prices  which  afford  a 
very  fair  profit  to  the  enterprising  manufacturer. 

LONGLKY. 


Death  Valley. 


Death  Valley  derives  its  name  from  the  fact  that  the 
majority  of  a  party  of  emigrants  who  attempted  to  traverse  it 
perished  from  thirst  and  the  intense  heat.  In  all  probability 
quite  as  many  would  have  perished  had  the  party  attempted 
to  cross  the  Mohave  or  the  Colorado  desert  at  any  other  point, 
without  knowing  the  location  of  the  few  springs  and  natural 
reservoirs. 

Had  the  leader  known  something  about  the  character  of 
the  country,  or  had  he  taken  the  precaution  to  employ  an 
Indian  guide  to  pilot  him  to  King's  Springs,  it  is  highly 
probable  the  party  would  have  made  the  trip  with  no  more 
danger  than  attends  a  journey  through  any  part  of  this  region. 
Knowing  the  location  of  the  few  springs  and  tanks,  or  natural 
reservoirs,  one  may  safely  travel  through  either  desert  at  any 
season  of  the  year.  Without  this  knowledge,  however,  it  is 
almost  certain  death  to  attempt  it,  especially  in  summer. 

Death  Valley  is  situated  in  Inyo  County,  California.  It  is 
a  small  portion  of  the  desert  region  which  forms  a  part  of  the 
Great  Basin.  It  lies  between  two  low  granite  ridges,  and  is 
the  northern  extremity  of  a  depression  extending  into  lower 
California.  This  depression  possesses  one  remarkable  feature  : 
nearly  every  part  is  below  sea-level.  It  contains  a  number  of 
dry  lake-basins,  one  of  which,  the  sink  of  the  Amargosa 
River,  practically  constitutes  Death  Valley. 

Another,  somewhat  larger,  is  the  sink  of  the  San  Felipe 
River,  better  known  as  Conchilla  Valley.  Both  stream  beds 
are  now  nothing  but  dry  washes,  though  at  some  former  and 
not  greatly  distant  time  each  must  have  carried  a  considerable 
volume  of  water.  After  the  lakes  had  become  dry  the  saline 
deposit  left  by  the  evaporation  of  their  waters  was  quickly 
covered  by  the  dust  carried  thither  by  sand-storms,  and  in  a 
few  places  only  is  the  deposit  left  uncovered. 


150  DEATH   VAI,I<EY. 

At  King's  Springs,  Death  Valley  is  two  hundred  and 
twenty-five  feet  below  sea-level,  though  it  is  probable  that 
there  are  places  where  the  depression  below  mean  tide  may 
exceed  three  hundred  and  fifty  or  four  hundred  feet.  A  few 
miles  distant  from  Dos  Palmas,  now  a  station  on  the  Southern 
Pacific  Railway,  the  writer  found  a  point  in  Conchilla  Valley 
three  hundred  and  twenty  feet  below  the  sea-level ;  Dos  Palmas 
itself  is  two  hundred  and  sixty-one  feet  below. 

The  reputed  volcano  in  this  valley  is  nothing  more  than  a 
hot  spring,  and  the  alleged  eruption  consisted  merely  of  a 
sudden  and  very  large  increase  in  the  flow  of  water, 
accompanied  by  ejection  of  mud.  It  is  probable  that  a  hot 
spring  had  previously  existed  at  that  locality,  and  its  sudden 
increase  was  most  likely  due  to  an  earthquake. 

There  are  no  poisonous  gases  emitted  from  the  volcanic 
rocks  in  either  locality ;  on  the  contrary,  the  atmosphere, 
because  of  its  relative  dry  ness,  is  remarkably  pure.  More- 
over, in  this  respect  neither  valley  differs  from  any  other  part 
of  the  Great  Basin,  or  in  fact  from  any  part  of  the  plateau 
region.  Meat  exposed  to  the  air  will  jerk,  or  dry  up,  but 
it  will  not  putrefy.  This  fact  is  attributed  to  the  purity  of  the 
hot,  dry  air,  which  is  free  from  germs  and  organisms  that 
produce  putrefaction. 

The  most  interesting  features  about  Death  Valley  and  its 
twin,  Conchilla  Valley,  are  their  excessive  heat  and  dry  ness. 
During  midsummer  the  temperature  will  often  remain  between 
110°  and  115°  for  weeks  at  a  time,  and  on  one  occasion  a 
temperature  of  130°  was  recorded  at  Indian  Wells.  In  spite 
of  its  intensity,  however,  this  degree  of  heat  is  not  intolerable, 
and  one  may  remain  out-of-doors  day  after  day  without  the 
slightest  danger  of  sunstroke.  Indeed,  in  this  region  a 
temperature  of  110°  is  by  no  means  so  disagreeable  as  one 
of  95°  along  the  seacoast  or  in  a  region  where  the  atmospheric 
moisture  is  great. 

In  these  valleys  and  throughout  the  desert  region  excessive 
dry  ness  is  a  peculiar  feature  of  the  atmosphere,  and  General 


DEATH   VAUvKY.  151 

Sherman's  assertion  that  "  even  the  steel  rails  of  the  railway 
track  shrivelled  and  curled  up  "  is  a  pardonable  exaggeration. 
Water  upon  the  ground  disappears  almost  instantly,  and  the 
whole  volume  of  the  Rio  Colorado  would  not  fill  either  valley, 
so  rapid  is  surface  evaporation. 

Still  another  peculiarity  is  the  presence  of  an  unusual 
amount  of  electricity  in  the  air.  Rubbing  the  hand  through 
the  hair  will  cause  a  fierce  snapping,  and  in  the  dark  will 
produce  a  profusion  of  sparks.  Horses'  manes  stand  almost 
erect,  and  their  tails  are  almost  globular  in  shape,  because  of 
the  self-repellent  force  exerted  by  the  electrified  hairs.  In 
the  trading  post  at  Dos  Palmas  there  used  to  stand  a  wooden 
bench  on  which  several  hundred  cans  of  preserved  goods  were 
kept.  The  metal  of  the  can  acted  as  a  condenser  to  the  extent 
that  at  times  one  could  draw  sparks  an  inch  in  length  from 
the  surface. 

The  rainfall  in  this  region,  as  in  all  parts  of  the  Colorado 
and  Mojave  deserts,  is  less  than  two  inches  a  year ;  if  evenly 
distributed  over  the  whole  surface  of  the  desert,  it  would 
probably  be  only  a  small  fraction  of  two  inches.  But  the 
rain-storms  are  local,  rarely  covering  more  than  a  few  hundred 
square  miles,  and  when  they  occur  they  are  apt  to  come  in  the 
form  of  cloudbursts.  There  is  a  sudden  darkening  of  the 
sky,  a  deluge  of  water,  and  then  the  sun  is  pouring  its  torrid 
ray  on  the  white,  glistening  sand  almost  before  one  realizes 
that  anything  has  happened.  Possibly  more  than  an  inch  of 
rain  may  fall  in  less  than  five  minutes,  and  another  cloud- 
burst may  not  occur  in  that  particular  locality  in  two  or  three 
years. 

By  far  more  trying,  however,  are  the  sand-storms.  These 
come  with  about  as  little  warning  as  the  cloudbursts,  and 
they  are  infinitely  more  disagreeable.  During  one  of  these 
storms  the  clouds  of  dust  are  so  dense  that  the  darkness 
is  almost  that  of  night.  The  finer  dust  is  piled  up  in  drifts 
fifteen  or  twenty  feet  high,  shifting  from  place  to  place  with 
each  storm ;  the  coarser  particles  are  hurled  with  a  force 


152  DEATH   VAI<I<EY. 

sufficient  to  lacerate  and  bruise  the  skin.  The  fact  that 
telegraph-poles  eight  inches  in  diameter  have  been  cut  almost 
entirely  away  in  less  than  a  year  may  give  one  an  idea  of  the 
force  of  these  blasts. 

L,ife,  either  animal  or  vegetable,  does  not  thrive  in  either 
valley.  There  are  a  few  species  of  cactus  and  one  or  two  of 
lizard.  The  cacti,  judging  from  the  number  of  dead  plants, 
seem  to  be  succumbing  to  the  intense  heat  and  drought.  One 
species  of  lizard  is  a  beautiful,  graceful  and  agile  little 
creature  that  emits  a  musical  chirp  ;  the  other  is  the  famous 
horned  toad.  Inasmuch  as  there  seems  to  be  neither  water 
nor  insects  for  them  to  subsist  upon,  just  how  they  live  is  a 
mystery.  Several  of  the  latter,  made  captives  by  the  writer, 
lived  for  nearly  five  months,  apparently  on  nothing.  No 
amount  of  coaxing  would  induce  them  to  eat  insects  or  bits 
of  shredded  muscle,  yet  they  seemed  lively  up  to  a  few  days 
before  dying. 

JACQUES  W.  REDWAY. 


The  Queer  Surface  of  Nevada. 

The  State  of  Nevada  has  very  few  inhabitants,  and  is 
commonly  supposed  to  be  a  desert  that  ought  to  be  avoided 
by  men  who  wish  to  establish  homes.  Yet  its  vast  area  is 
rich  in  many  ways,  though  considerable  portions  of  it  are  given 
over  to  freaks  of  nature  —  deserts,  plains,  sinks  and  ugly 
eruptions.  But  the  State  can  well  afford  room  for  its  queer 
spots,  as  it  has,  exclusive  of  them,  enough  fertile  soil  to 
overlie  the  whole  of  New  England. 

The  traveller  who  crosses  the  *  *  Sage-Brush  State  ' '  in  the 
cars  sees  much  of  its  dreariness  and  little  of  its  pleasant 
places.  He  does  not  suspect  that  Nevada  has  great  stretches 
of  valley  wherein  are  ranches  and  cattle  ranges,  and  lazy 
rivers  winding  through  broad,  bright  ribbons  of  green. 

Indeed,  water  works  emerald  miracles  in  this  strange 
land,  and  there  the  farmers  reap  easy  and  sure  harvests. 
Their  fields  pay  abundantly  in  hay  and  grain  ;  their  herds 
furnish  ample  measure  of  milk,  butter,  cheese  and  beef ;  their 
flocks  produce  well  of  long,  wholesome  wool,  and  their 
orchards  bow  down  with  loads  of  fruit. 

The  surface  of  the  state  is  about  five  thousand  feet  above 
the  sea-level,  on  an  average,  the  range  being  from  three 
thousand  feet,  in  some  of  the  valleys,  to  ten  thousand  feet, 
where  snow-clad  peaks  lift  into  the  deep  blue  vault  above. 
The  aspect  of  the  whole  is  gray,  because  sage-brush  covers 
nearly  the  entire  extent,  and  the  surface  is  a  varying 
succession  of  mountains  and  valleys. 

At  various  places  occur  alkali  flats,  some  of  which  are 
readily  reclaimed,  while  some  are  veritable  deserts,  almost  as 
white  as  snow,  flat  as  a  table,  and  barren  as  the  bottom  of  a 
sad-iron. 

Some  of  these  flats  are  forty  miles  long  and  ten  to  fifteen 


154 


THE    QUEER   SURFACE    OF   NEVADA. 


miles  broad.  Over  them  the  winds  blow  blinding,  parching 
clouds  of  smarting  dust.  On  the  edges  of  such  "blisters" 
springs  frequently  gush  forth,  but  the  water  is  brackish  and 
often  poisonous. 

Beneath  these  chalk-like  floors  riches  sometimes  lie.     Men 


Queer  Surface. 


dig  trenches  near  the  edges  and  fill  them  with  water.  The 
sun  dries  them  out,  and  behold !  a  fine  crust  of  crystal 
salt,  pure  and  clear.  Or,  again,  there  may  be  borax  deposits, 
and  laborers  plow  or  dig  out  the  cotton  balls  of  borax,  grind 


THE   QUEER   SURFACE   OF   NEVADA.  155 

them  up,  crystallize  them,  and  get  rich  from  the  sackfuls  and 
tons  of  it  carried  into  distant  cities. 

The  state  is  wonderfully  and  richly  endowed  with  springs. 
To  say  nothing  of  snow-chilled,  rock-filtered  founts  of  pure 
water,  there  are  hundreds  of  freaky  spoutings,  both  cold  and 
hot,  some  of  which  have  attracted  the  attention  of  science 
from  afar.  I  doubt  if  any  like  area  contains  so  great  a  number 
of  hot  mineral  springs. 

Sulphur  taints  some  so  thickly  at  times  that  the  bottoms  of 
the  ponds  are  formed  of  the  grayish  stuff,  and  every  sub- 
merged twig  and  root  is  coated  heavily  with  it. 

The  hot  springs,  however,  which  are  found  in  almost 
every  valley,  are  the  most  attractive.  These  gush  up  in  many 
sorts,  but  nearly  all  are  said  to  possess  healing  qualities  and 
are  exceedingly  pleasant  to  bathe  in.  There  are  six  or  eight 
of  them  within  a  short  distance  of  the  capital  city,  Carson. 

One  of  these,  Steamboat  Springs,  is  famous  in  the  scientific 
world.  The  waters  spout,  small,  geyser-like,  from  deep  rifts 
and  chasms,  making  much  to  do  of  it  and  rumbling  mightily. 
Where  the  heated  and  agitated  fluid  issues  forth  it  drops  a 
burden  fetched  from  afar  down  and  leaves  it,  red  and  heavy, 
at  the  outside  door.  This  deposit  is  cinnabar,  or  quicksilver 
ore,  and  is  regarded  with  great  interest  by  geologists. 

Another  strange  feature  of  Nevada  are  the  sinks  in  which  its 
rivers  disappear  completely.  The  Carson  River,  the  Hum- 
boldt  River  and  the  Truckee  River,  not  to  mention  small 
streams,  flow  their  life-imparting  way  to  apparent  lakes,  which 
are  really  huge  sinks.  Carson  Sink,  Humboldt  Sink  and 
Pyramid  Lake,  respectively,  swallow  down  the  whole  output 
of  the  mountain  springs. 

Fish  live  in  these  uncanny  lakes,  and  ducks  and  geese 
gather  in  thousands  on  them,  but  the  water  is  a  little  off 
taste.  Some  much-learned  heads  shake  wisely,  and  assert 
that  subterranean  passages  conduct  the  streams  away. 

In  this  wonderland  are  caverns  that  rival  the  great  Mam- 
moth Cave  of  Kentucky ;  beds  of  salt  where  slabs  may  be 


156  THE   QUEER   SURFACE  OF   NEVADA. 

quarried  out  like  stone ;  deposits  of  sulphur  as  pure  as  can 
be  made  in  the  underground  laboratories  ;  ledges  of  mineral 
soap  that  may  be  cut  out  with  a  knife,  and  countless  combi- 
nations, chemical  and  curious. 

There  are  vast  treasures  of  metal,  gold,  silver,  copper,  lead, 
iron,  and  those  the  names  of  which  are  much  less  commonly 
known. 

There  are  beds  of  coal,  forests  of  trees  and  acres  of  sand 
intermingled  with  gold  in  flakes.  These,  sands  are  the 
placers,  and  it  is  not  easy  always  to  separate  the  precious 
bits  of  shining  metal  from  the  dross. 

There  are  mountains  of  granite,  sandstone  and  marble,  not 
to  mention  the  volcanic  and  igneous  formations.  Quarries  of 
all  of  these  rocks  are  worked  a  little,  but  so  extensive  is  the 
supply  that  the  present  working  might  be  compared  to  the 
scratching  of  one  hen  on  a  large  farm  with  design  to  cultivate 
the  acres.  The  granite  is  close-grained,  of  all  tints,  and  of 
much  beauty  ;  the  marble  is  of  infinite  variety,  and  fit  for  the 
finest  of  the  arts. 

Some  wonder-inspiring  '  *  footprints  on  the  sands  of  time  ' ' 
are  found  in  the  stone  quarries  at  the  state  prison,  near  Carson. 
There  they  were  left  ages  ago  by  birds  and  animals  long 
since  extinct.  Grave  professors  have  hovered  lovingly  over 
these  mud  impressions,  and  they  pronounce  them  wonderful. 

Weird  animals  and  birds  wandered  along  that  place,  then 
a  lake  shore,  while  yet  the  mud  was  soft  as  ooze,  and  there 
left  their  autographs  ;  and  Nature  came  to  save  the  page,  and 
she  shut  on  it  her  cover  of  rock,  hard-wove  and  thick  and 
lasting  as  the  hills. 

PHILIP 


Pyramid   Lake. 


The  volcanoes  of  the  Pacific  coast,  in  their  extinction,  have 
left  us  no  more  wonderful  phenomena  than  the  deposits  now 
seen  in  a  wonderful  sheet  of  water  known  as  the  Pyramid 
Lake,  in  Nevada,  over  three  thousand  feet  above  the  sea- 
level. 

This  lake  lies  near  the  eastern  base  of  the  Sierra  Nevada 
Mountains,  about  one  hundred  miles  south  of  the  Oregon  line. 
It  is  nearly  forty  miles  long,  by  five  to  twelve  miles  wide. 
Jutting  out  of  its  waters  and  rising  abruptly  up  from  their 
very  depths  are  hundreds  of  pyramids,  or  conic  formations, 
of  a  basaltic  mineral ;  they  are  not  of  stone  proper,  but  the 
evidence  shows  that  they  were  once  molten  matter  thrown  out 
in  the  upheaval  of  a  prehistoric  volcano.  Whether  or  no  the 
area  of  the  present  lake  was  once  the  crater  of  a  volcano,  or 
whether  the  crater  was  near  by,  throwing  its  jets  of  lava 
into  the  cooling  waters,  are  problems  that  are  well-nigh 
indeterminate.  Doubtless  strong  testimonies  could  be  pro- 
duced in  favor  of  either  hypothesis. 

The  tallest  of  the  pyramids  in  the  lake  are  said  to  be  some 
five  hundred  feet  high  —  about  as  large  and  as  high  as  the 
great  Egyptian  Cheops.  The  smallest  appear  to  be  from  ten 
to  fifteen  feet  in  height.  They  are  seen  singly,  and  in  groups 
or  clusters,  irregular-  in  height  and  irregular  in  diameter,  but 
all  of  singular  uniformity  in  shape  —  like  an  ordinary  V 
inverted,  the  angle  acute  at  top,  the  apex  pointed,  and 
usually  very  sharp  at  that. 

Some  of  the  pyramids  are  hollow,  having  apertures 
in  the  sides  through  which  otter  and  other  fish-eating 
quadrupeds  go  in  and  out.  There  are  thousands  of  these 
fur-bearing  animals  seen  sporting  about  the  pyramids.  They 
are  careful,  however,  to  make  their  homes  out  of  reach  of 
gunshot  from  the  shore. 


PYRAMID    I.AKE.  159 

The  lake  abounds  in  the  finest  of  fish,  chiefly  of  the  trout 
and  salmon  family.  The  waters  of  this  and  its  twin  brother, 
Winnemucca  Lake,  lie  within  the  bounds  of  an  Indian 
reservation  in  Nevada,  and  the  fish  are  the  exclusive  property 
of  the  tribe  of  peaceable  savages  living  on  the  shores.  White 
men  are  not  allowed  the  privilege  of  fishing  in  the  lakes, 
except  by  the  grace  of  the  Indian,  and  that  means  both  little 
and  much  —  little  of  the  grace,  and  much  of  the  consequence 
if  you  happen  to  be  caught !  You  may  catch  a  few  of  the  fish 
for  your  own  personal  use,  but  if  you  are  found  making 
merchandise  of  them,  woe  to  the  fisherman  ! 

The  provident  Indian  —  for  there  are  a  few  of  them  there 
—  spends  some  of  his  time  during  the  summer  days  in  taking 
the  fish  and  drying  them  for  winter  use.  The  fish  are  cut 
open  and  hung,  or  laid,  on  scaffolds  erected  on  the  shore. 
The  hot  sunshine  over  the  white  sands  of  the  beach  soon  dries 
the  fish  ready  for  packing  away,  the  reflection  of  the  heat  from 
below  being  almost  as  great  as  the  direct  rays  from  above. 

The  waters  of  this  lake,  like  those  of  Great  Salt  Lake  in 
Utah,  are  never  at  rest.  They  are  always,  as  I  was  told, 
while  there,  in  a  state  of  agitation  and  unrest.  It  is  indeed  a 
troubled  sea,  though  its  waters  are  fresh.  Navigation  over 
its  surface  is  ever  attended  with  supreme  danger,  and  even 
the  Indians  rarely  venture  far  from  the  broad,  white  beach. 
Few  white  men  have  ever  succeeded  in  crossing  in  boats  or 
canoes ;  many  have  been  lost  in  attempting  the  feat.  The 
winds  sweep  the  lake  with  sudden  and  frequent  squalls. 

The  Indian  name  of  Pyramid  Lake  is  written  Cuh-o-wah, 
or  Coo-ho-wah,  a  word  that  in  the  native  tongue  means  simply 
waters,  or  the  big  or  much  water.  Lying  by  its  side  is  the 
Winnemucca,  the  great  purple  water.  These  lakes  are  the 
reservoir  holding  the  waters  of  the  Truckee  River,  a  raging, 
roaring  stream  that  leaps  in  considerable  volume  from  the 
canons  of  the  eastern  face  of  the  Sierras,  fed  by  the  eternal 
snows  of  the  dizzy  summits  that  rim  the  heavens  away  to  the 
westward. 


160  PYRAMID 

Up  the  northern  bank  of  this  river  the  Southern  Pacific 
Railway  winds  its  course,  past  the  sombre  shades  about  Lake 
Donner,  up  to  the  crest  of  the  mountain  at  Summit  Station. 
The  mountains  about  the  Pyramid  Lake  are  low,  sandy  and 
quite  barren.  To  the  northward  is  an  ugly  stretch  of  desert, 
and  one  of  the  roughest  highways  over  which  human  traveller 
is  ever  hurried  by  pitiless  stagemen. 

There  are  no  waters  of  Nevada  that  have  an  outlet  in  the 
ocean  excepting  some  small  tributaries  of  the  Snake  on  the 
north,  and  one  of  the  Colorado  on  the  south. 

The  principal  river  is  the  Humboldt,  a  current  that  winds 
through  a  desert,  without  a  sprig  of  verdure  to  mark  its 
shores.  For  a  hundred  miles  one  may  travel  not  more  than 
half  a  mile  from  its  course  and  never  know  that  there  is  a 
stream  of  water  near.  The  banks  are  low,  and  in  places  the 
desert  plain  stretches  away  in  unbroken  level  for  more  than  a 
hundred  miles.  With  the  occasional  exception  of  sage-brush 
and  bunch-grass,  nothing  grows  on  this  desert  plain  except  in 
irrigation. 

Humboldt  River  has  no  lake  or  sea  outlet ;  the  waters, 
after  running  nearly  a  thousand  miles,  simply  disappear 
and  lose  themselves  in  a  vast  sand  and  alkali  basin  known  as 
the  Sink  of  the  Humboldt,  in  one  of  the  dreariest  and  most 
forlorn  stretches  of  waste  land  human  eye  ever  beheld,  in  the 
heart  of  a  great  broad  plain  shimmering  with  sickening, 
whitish  alkali,  while  the  far-off  mountains  to  the  southward 
appear  like  a  vein  of  silver,  with  their  snow-capped  faces 
looking  down  on  the  desolation  below. 

M.  V.  MOORE. 


The   Grand   Canon. 

Having  read  several  interesting  accounts  of  visits  to  the 
Grand  Canon  of  the  Colorado  River  in  Arizona,  but  none 
describing  the  experience  of  a  descent  into  the  chasm,  I  was 
filled  with  a  desire  to  have  this  experience. 

I  was  told  that  to  make  possible  a  descent  to  the  river,  the 
services  of  a  guide  would  be  necessary ;  but  deeming  the 
price  which  the  local  guides  asked  beyond  my  means,  I 
resolved  to  go  alone. 

As  I  stood  on  the  rim  of  the  canon,  ready  to  begin  the 
descent,  I  must  confess  that  I  felt  a  little  uncertain  of  the 
wisdom  of  my  course,  but  I  had  no  notion  of  turning  back. 

Mr.  John  Hance,  who  lives  in  a  cabin  near  the  rim  of  the 
canon,  told  me  that  the  distance  from  the  rim  to  the  river  was 
seven  miles ;  the  vertical  depth  more  than  six  thousand  six 
hundred  feet ;  the  distance  from  the  rim  to  a  cabin  on  the 
trail,  three  miles  ;  vertical  depth  to  the  cabin,  four  thousand 
feet ;  length  of  longest  rope,  fifty  feet. 

With  neither  coat  nor  waistcoat,  carrying  only  my  journal 
and  my  lunch,  I  was  ready  for  the  descent.  I  noted  the  time, 
which  was  just  seven  o'clock  and  forty  minutes,  and  bade 
good-by  to  my  driver,  requesting  that  if  I  should  not  return  by 
the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  he  should  come  down  to  seek  me. 

The  trail  is  so  steep  that  one  can  scarcely  keep  on  his  feet. 
I  walked,  ran,  slid  and  rolled  down  the  three  miles  to  the 
cabin  in  just  an  hour  and  two  minutes. 

The  scenery  all  the  way  was  exceedingly  interesting. 
Looking  down,  one  would  see  a  prominent  ledge,  or  bench  of 
rock,  perhaps  a  thousand  feet  below,  from  which  would  rise  a 
magnificent  butte.  A  quarter  of  an  hour's  travel  would  bring 
him  to  a  level  with  this  base  ;  and  in  the  next  quarter  of  an 
hour  he  would  see  it  rise  a  thousand  feet  above  his  head. 


162 


THE    GRAND    CANON. 


I  found  it  exceedingly  interesting  to  pick  out  prominent 
points,  both  at  a  level  with  me  and  far  below,  and  then  stop 
occasionally  and  see  how  we  had  changed  position.  In  fact, 
I  think  that  is  about  the  only  way  one  can  gain  an  idea, 
inadequate  though  it  be,  of  the  great  descent  he  is  making. 


k 


The   Urand    oanon. 


At  the  cabin  I  found  a  beautiful  stream  of  clear,  cool 
water,  which  was  very  refreshing.  Here  I  divided  my  lunch, 
leaving  some  for  my  return.  After  half  an  hour's  rest  I 
pushed  on. 


THE    GRAND    CANON.  163 

The  canon  here,  which  is  merely  a  side  canon  leading  down 
to  the  river,  was  perhaps  five  hundred  feet  wide,  with  walls 
nearly  vertical,  a  thousand  feet  high.  On  every  hand  the 
scenery  was  indescribably  grand.  The  canon  was  narrowing, 
the  walls  were  getting  higher ;  the  whole  scene  was  becoming 
more  impressive  and  majestic. 

The  indications  of  the  trail  were  growing  exceedingly 
faint.  I  had  gone  perhaps  three  miles  from  the  cabin.  The 
canon  had  narrowed  to  about  twenty-five  feet,  with  its  walls 
sloping  at  an  angle  of  over  eighty  degrees. 

I  had  descended  through  the  sandstone  and  shale,  and  was 
already  several  hundred  feet  into  the  granite,  when  I  came  to 
the  first  rope  ladder.  I  was  glad  to  see  it,  for  it  assured  me 
that  I  was  on  the  right  trail,  although  it  brought  visibly  before 
my  mind  the  fact  that  the  dangerous  part  of  my  journey  had 
yet  to  be  accomplished.  The  ladder  was  about  ten  feet  long. 
I  tested  its  fastenings  and  easily  descended. 

A  few  steps  beyond,  I  had  to  climb  by  a  single  rope  over  a 
ledge  of  vertical  rock  fifteen  feet  high.  As  I  had  110  means  of 
examining  the  fastening,  I  hesitated  for  a  moment,  for  I  knew 
the  hardest  strain  would  come  upon  the  rope  just  as  I  should 
round  the  top  of  the  ledge  and  be  farthest  from  the  rock 
below.  I  ascended  safely,  and  then  soon  had  to  descend  a 
gentle  slope,  clinging  to  a  rope  about  forty  feet  long. 

When  I  had  gone  about  one  hundred  feet,  the  canon  had 
narrowed  in  one  place  to  a  width  of  about  five  feet,  and  at  the 
bottom  was  a  pool  of  water  about  eighteen  inches  deep.  The 
walls  were  so  smooth  and  round  that  it  was  impossible  to  pass 
the  pool  without  getting  wet.  Removing  shoes  and  stockings, 
I  got  over  nicely,  and  as  I  expected  to  meet  even  a  worse  case 
in  a  moment  or  two,  I  proceeded  with  bare  feet  on  the  smooth 
granite. 

Turning  a  sharp  angle  in  the  canon,  I  had  scarcely  gone 
forty  feet  when  I  heard  the  roar  of  a  heavy  fall  of  water,  and 
found  myself  hemmed  in  on  both  sides  by  steep  walls,  with  a 
waterfall  about  fifteen  feet  high  in  front  of  me.  On  the  level 


164  THK   GRAND    CANON. 

of  the  rock  below  the  falls  I  saw  a  bunch  of  rope  lying  against 
the  wall  of  the  canon,  as  if  it  had  been  washed  there. 

I  at  once  supposed  that  I  had  reached  the  end  of  my 
journey,  and  that  the  rope  which  I  saw  had  at  one  time  been 
used  to  get  over  the  falls,  but  was  now  out  of  reach.  Never- 
theless, I  decided  -to  see  what  I  could  do  toward  climbing 
around  the  place. 

The  granite  was  very  smooth,  but,  being  barefoot,  I  found 
climbing  rather  a  simple  matter.  I  was  getting  along  nicely 
and  congratulating  myself  that  I  had  got  safely  around  the 
falls,  when,  to  my  horror,  upon  turning  to  the  left,  I  saw 
below  what  at  first  appeared  to  be  a  descent  without  bottom. 

Climbing  to  the  edge  of  the  precipice  and  looking  down,  I 
concluded  that  this  must  be  the  great  waterfall  of  which  I  had 
heard  Mr.  Hance  speak,  and  that  the  rope  I  had  noticed 
from  the  precipice,  now  behind  me,  had  not  fallen  down  from 
that,  but  was  intended  for  this  next  descent. 

Making  sure  that  the  end  of  the  rope  was  well  fastened, 
I  cast  it  over  the  falls.  It  hung  straight  in  the  midst  of  a 
cascade  of  water  four  feet  wide  and  six  inches  deep.  The 
rope  appeared  to  be  strong,  and  I  determined  to  try  it. 

The  height  was  said  to  be  fifty  feet,  but  I  think  it  was  not 
so  much.  As  I  did  not  wish  to  have  my  watch  and  my  jour- 
nal ruined,  I  hid  those  articles  with  my  trousers.  As  I  was 
concealing  them  it  occurred  to  me  that  no  one  was  within  at 
least  six  miles. 

Below  the  falls  there  was  a  spot  about  ten  feet  square, 
perfectly  dry.  Down  upon  this  I  tossed  shoes,  stockings, 
shirt  and  lunch.  My  underwear  I  retained,  to  protect  myself 
in  some  measure  against  the  rocky  wall.  The  descent  through 
the  falls  was  pleasant  enough,  the  water  having  about  the 
right  temperature  to  produce  an  exhilarating  reaction  without 
chilling  ;  and  as  I  passed  down  the  rope  I  was  delighted,  as 
well  as  surprised,  to  find  the  wall  covered  near  its  base  with 
beautiful  moss  and  maiden-hair  ferns. 

Removing  my  wet  apparel,  I  put  on  what  dry  clothing  I 


THE    GRAND    CANON.  165 

had,  and  went  on.  I  had  gone  about  two  hundred  feet  when  I 
came  to  a  place  that  troubled  me.  It  was  a  slope,  somewhat 
steep,  but  quite  smooth,  and  no  rope  was  in  sight. 

Examining  the  place  carefully,  I  decided  that  the  best 
method  of  descent  was  the  one  I  had  used  years  ago  on  my 
grandfather's  farm  in  descending  straw-stacks.  Only  one 
objection  presented  itself  —  the  part  of  my  costume  that  was 
missing  is  the  one  usually  most  relied  upon  on  such  occasions. 
Nevertheless,  I  conformed  to  the  inevitable,  and  slid  down 
without  serious  injury. 

Only  one  short  rope  remained  for  me,  and,  almost  leaping 
with  joy,  I  found  myself  on  the  bank  of  the  Colorado.  The 
river  was  an  angry,  muddy  torrent,  with  rapids  at  short 
intervals,  flowing  between  rugged  granite  walls  that  rose 
almost  perpendicularly  from  the  water's  edge. 

It  seemed  impossible  to  pass  more  than  one  hundred  feet 
up  or  down  the  stream  ;  and  as  I  sat  in  the  shadow  of  a  mighty 
boulder  and  enjoyed  my  battered  lunch,  I  thought  of  Major 
Powell  and  his  party,  who  passed  through  here  in  1869.  My 
wonder  was,  not  that  two  members  of  the  expedition  had  been 
lost,  but  that  any  should  have  escaped. 

Having  looked  upon  the  scene  until  it  became  deeply 
impressed  upon  my  memory,  I  gathered  a  few  pebbles  to  carry 
with  me  and  started  on  my  return.  The  sliding-place  was 
soon  passed,  such  places  being,  on  the  whole,  more  easy  of 
ascent  than  of  descent. 

When  I  reached  the  base  of  the  high  falls,  I  removed  all 
my  clothing,  even  to  shoes  and  stockings,  and  thrust  every- 
thing except  my  belt  into  the  bag  in  which  I  had  carried  my 
lunch.  Fastening  the  belt  to  the  bag,  I  buckled  it  around 
my  neck.  Then  stepping  into  the  midst  of  the  falls,  with  my 
face  turned  upward,  so  that  my  nose  should  serve  as  a  water- 
shed, the  bag  hanging  under  my  head,  I  ascended  the  rope 
and  reached  the  top  with  my  clothing  only  slightly  wet. 

The  things  I  had  hidden  I  found  all  right,  and  as  I  stopped 
for  a  little  rest  I  wrote  up  my  journal. 


166  THE   GRAND    CANON. 

I  reached  the  cabin  at  four  o'clock.  I  called  to  mind  that 
I  had  been  told  that  the  ascent  from  there  would  require  at 
least  three  hours.  At  that  time  of  the  year  it  is  dark  at 
half-past  seven  ;  so  I  concluded  that  if  I  started  I  must  climb 
the  whole  distance  in  the  time  mentioned.  I  determined 
to  go  on,  and  not  to  look  at  my  watch  until  I  had  reached  the 
top. 

The  distance  is  three  miles ;  the  elevation  is  said  to  be  four 
thousand  feet ;  and  it  was  just  half-past  four  when  I  started. 
In  the  first  mile  I  do  not  think  I  ascended  more  than  five 
hundred  feet.  That  was  covered  with  ease,  and  then  I  pressed 
on  to  the  steeper  part.  After  climbing  hard  for  a  while  I  sat 
down  to  rest. 

As  I  sat  there,  I  remember  looking  up  at  some  turret-like 
projections  of  rock  on  the  rim,  several  thousand  feet  above  me, 
and  saying  :  "  Well,  I  guess  about  four  such  pulls  as  this  will 
bring  me  out." 

I  struggled  on.  Bach  interval  between  my  rests  was 
growing  shorter,  both  as  to  space  and  time.  The  number  of 
rests  was  nearer  forty-four  than  four,  and  by  the  time  I  had 
reached  the  top  I  was  so  completely  worn  out  that  a  pull  of  a 
few  yards  was  enough  to  bring  me  to  a  halt. 

A  dark  shower  which  was  raging  on  the  rim  had  deceived 
me  somewhat  as  to  the  hour ;  I  supposed  that  it  was  later 
than  it  really  was.  As  I  threw  myself  on  the  ground  under  a 
pinon-tree  on  the  rim,  my  heart  beating  at  the  highest  speed 
and  my  flesh  aglow,  I  looked  at  my  watch.  It  was  just  twenty 
minutes  past  six.  I  had  come  from  the  cabin  to  the  rim  in 
just  one  hour  and  fifty  minutes. 

As  I  dragged  myself  to  the  door  of  Mr.  Hance's  cabin,  the 
old  man  met  me.  He  was  unwilling,  at  first,  to  believe  that 
I  had  reached  the  river.  I  told  him  of  my  experience  on  the 
ropes,  and  he  was  convinced.  It  is  unnecessary  to  mention 
that  I  slept  well  that  night. 

J.  G.  OWENS. 


Cave-Dwellers  of  Arizona. 

Arizona  has  an  unwritten  history  which  may  be  roughly 
surmised  from  the  rude  characters  inscribed  on  rocks,  the 
deserted  dwellings  of  a  prehistoric  race,  and  the  ruins  of  once 
populous  towns.  All  these  things  give  evidence  that  a 
peaceful,  industrious  people,  cultivating  the  soil  and  practis- 
ing some  of  the  arts,  had  lived  and  died  within  the  territory 
centuries  before  the  European  saw  this  continent. 

This  aboriginal  people  passed  away,  leaving  the  wild 
Indian  and  the  buffalo  in  possession  of  their  domain  ;  but 
some  of  their  works  have  withstood  time,  and  remain  to  aid  us 
in  guessing  their  history.  Who  they  were,  whence  they 
came,  whither  they  went,  are  problems  not  yet  solved. 

Traces  of  these  people  have  been  discovered  in  New 
Mexico,  Utah  and  Colorado,  but  in  those  districts  the  ruins 
consist  mainly  of  crumbling  walls,  mounds  of  dust  and  masses 
of  rubbish,  the  remains  of  old  buildings.  The  most  authentic 
history  comes  from  the  Great  Tonto  Basin  in  Arizona,  com- 
prising upward  of  ten  thousand  square  miles.  Here  nearly 
every  eminence  bears  ruins  that  prove  the  ancient  existence  of 
a  vanished  race. 

Under  the  shadow  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  flows  a  small 
yellow  stream  called  Beaver  Creek,  a  tributary  of  the  Rio 
Verde,  which  runs  into  the  Gila  River.  On  the  creek's  high 
banks  are  located  upward  of  sixty  walled  caves  of  various 
sizes,  once  the  homes  of  that  prehistoric  race  of  whom  the 
American  Indian  has  no  traditions. 

The  caves  vary  from  five  to  twenty-five  feet  in  depth. 
Their  entrances  are  walled  by  heavy  masonry  of  stone  and 
cement,  still  in  good  preservation. 

The  largest  of  the  caves  are  divided  into  many  small 
apartments  by  partitions,  or  walls,  of  stone  and  cedar  wood. 


An  Arizona  Cave-Dwelling. 


CAVE-DWELLERS   OF    ARIZONA.  169 

It  is  asserted  by  many  students  of  the  race  that  the  inhabitants 
lived  in  the  smaller  apartments,  securely  fortified  from  enemies 
who  frequently  besieged  their  cave-towns. 

The  dwellings  consisted  of  an  upper  and  lower  cave.  To 
reach  the  upper  cave  it  was  necessary  to  ascend  by  outside 
ladders,  at  peril  of  falling  to  the  ground,  sixty  to  one  hundred 
feet  below.  The  lower  cave  was  reached  by  climbing  over  the 
rugged  edges  of  projecting  rocks. 

To  the  walls  of  the  rooms  still  hang  small  fragments  of 
mortar,  proof  that  the  interior  of  their  cave-dwelling  was 
plastered.  From  discernible  imprints  of  hands  and  fingers,  it 
is  surmised  that  the  mortar  must  have  been  spread  upon  the 
walls  with  bare  hands.  In  many  places  can  be  seen  the 
impressions  of  the  small,  chubby  hands  of  little  children,  who 
were,  no  doubt,  delighted  to  make  their  marks  in  the  wet 
plaster. 

Many  of  the  caves  are  equal  in  size  to  some  of  our  public 
buildings,  and  in  one  of  the  largest  ruins  five  hundred  rooms 
were  found.  Four  stories  still  stand,  but  the  roof  and  upper 
walls  have  long  ago  crumbled  and  fallen  to  the  ground.  The 
rooms  are  still  well  preserved.  They  have  no  other  entrances 
than  small  windows,  for  the  buildings  were  entered  by  ladders 
which  rested  in  niches  in  the  walls,  and  which  were  drawn  in 
after  the  occupant. 

Floors  were  formed  of  cedar  logs  laid  close  to  each  other 
with  spaces  between  them  filled  in  with  twigs  and  cedar  bark. 
The  ragged  ends  of  the  logs  give  evidence  that  they  were 
hewn  by  dull  instruments,  perhaps  by  the  stone  hatchets  and 
saws  which  we  saw  lying  about. 

Many  cave-dwellings  erected  in  proximity  to  each  other 
formed  what  was  known  as  a  cave-town.  A  plaza  was  set  off 
in  the  centre,  and  the  rooms  were  arranged  around  it.  The 
architecture  of  each  seemed  to  have  corresponded  in  the 
minutest  detail  to  that  of  every  other,  so  that  all  the  dwellings 
of  the  town  were  alike. 

The  walls  of   the  cave  were   from   three   to   four  feet   in 


1 70  CAVE-DWEIvI,ERS   OF   ARIZONA. 

thickness,  and  the  roof  covered  with  timbers  of  cedar  and  dirt 
over  a  foot  thick.  Often  these  cedars  are  found  well- 
preserved,  and  this  has  often  caused  doubt  of  the  great 
antiquity  of  these  ruins.  No  such  doubt  is  felt  by  those  who 
know  that  the  cedars  of  Colorado  and  the  Southwest  never  rot, 
but  die  standing  without  support  until  borne  away  on  the 
winds  in  atoms  of  fine  dust. 

Cave-towns  were  often  built  in  the  form  of  a  square  and 
parallelogram,  as  well  as  in  a  circular  form,  and  their 
measurements  were  exact  in  every  detail.  Their  masonry 
reveals  a  higher  state  of  civilization  than  that  enjoyed  by  the 
Mexican  or  Pueblo  Indians. 

The  circular  towns  consisted  of  three  tiers  of  cave- 
dwellings,  one  directly  above  the  other.  The  second  tier 
receded  some  distance  from  the  ground  tier,  and  the  third 
receded  from  the  second.  So  the  whole  resembled  a  huge 
stairway  of  masonry  and  adobe.  These  tiers  ran  all  round 
the  enclosure,  and  thus  formed  a  stronghold  for  defence  during 
troublesome  periods. 

Among  the  great  structures  now  crumbling  to  dust  must  be 
mentioned  the  Casa  Grande,  situated  in  the  valley  of  the  Gila. 
Its  history  antedates  the  time  when  the  Spaniards  conquered 
and  occupied  the  country. 

This  wonderful  building  stands  a  short  distance  back  from 
the  Gila's  banks.  Its  origin  has  been  traced  back  on  good 
evidence  through  five  centuries.  When  first  seen  by  the  white 
man,  three  hundred  years  ago,  the  largest  building  was  four 
stories  high,  and  had  walls  six  feet  thick.  At  the  beginning 
of  the  present  century  one  house  alone  remained,  which  was 
four  hundred  and  twenty  by  two  hundred  and  sixty  feet. 

The  walls  are  of  concrete,  consisting  of  mud,  gravel  and 
hard  cement,  while  the  interior  is  coated  with  cement,  and  is 
hard  and  smooth  at  the  present  time.  The  ruin  has  diminished 
in  size  until  it  is  now  fifty  by  thirty  feet,  and  is  rapidly  sinking 
to  a  mere  hillock  of  dust. 

The  inside  is  divided  into  five  rooms,  the  central  one  being 


CAVK-DWElylyKRS  OF  ARIZONA.  171 

eighteen  feet  long  and  fourteen  feet  wide,  while  the  others  are 
twenty-five  feet  long  and  ten  wide. 

The  beams  of  cedar  still  inserted  in  its  walls  give  proof  that 
the  building  originally  had  four  stories,  with  a  fifth  located 
above  the  central  part.  No  stairways  nor  traces  of  any  can  be 
seen,  so  that,  as  in  all  of  the  cave-dwellings,  the  upper  rooms 
must  have  been  entered  by  ladders. 

In  all  the  ruins  are  circular  apartments,  surrounded  by 
walls  of  masonry  sunk  deep  in  the  ground.  These  circular 
chambers  have  an  average  diameter  of  twenty  feet.  They 
were  used  for  worship.  The  cave-dwellers  were  probably 
sun- worshippers,  and  within  this  peculiar  apartment  were 
performed  the  rites  of  their  religion. 

In  connection  with  the  cave-dwellings  have  been  found 
numerous  hieroglyphics  engraved  on  rocks  centuries  prior  to 
the  landing  of  the  Pilgrims  at  Plymouth.  That  they  are  of 
great  antiquity,  and  were  engraved  by  men  of  no  little 
intelligence  and  ambition,  can  hardly  be  doubted. 

Without  exception  the  sites  chosen  for  the  erection  of 
cave-dwellings  were  in  the  vicinity  of  agricultural  lands,  and 
the  existence  of  artificial  canals  gives  evidence  that  irrigation 
was  practised  by  their  owners. 

One  canal,  ten  miles  long,  twenty-five  feet  wide  and  ten 
feet  deep,  still  exists,  and  was  no  doubt  designed  to  receive 
the  waters  of  the  Gila  for  distribution  to  the  cultivated  fields, 
in  which  they  raised  Indian  corn,  pumpkins,  melons  and 
certain  fruits.  Another  irrigating  canal  has  been  followed 
to  the  Gila,  a  distance  of  forty  miles. 

There  have  been  found  in  the  cave-houses  more  than  two 
thousand  pieces  of  pottery,  from  large,  coarse  jars  to  cups  and 
jugs  which  might  well  be  coveted  by  bric-a-brac  collectors ; 
hundreds  of  stone  hatchets,  knives,  arrow-heads,  hammers  and 
mortars ;  bows,  paddles,  hoes,  lances  and  plows  of  wood,  and 
mantles  woven  from  yucca  fibre,  wild  cotton  and  the  inmeshed 
feathers  of  turkeys  —  for  there  is  abundant  evidence  that  the 
cave-dwellers  had  domesticated  the  turkey. 


172 


CAVE-DWELLERS   OF   ARIZONA. 


The  high,  dry  recesses  of  the  closed  houses  have  preserved 
not  only  the  bones,  but  the  burial-clothes  in  which  the  people 
were  wrapped  and  laid  to  rest  in  carefully  walled-up  niches  of 
the  crags. 

The  skulls  give  evidence  that  the  cave-dwellers  possessed 
average  brain  capacity.  The  skeletons  show  that  the  men 
were  sometimes  six  feet  in  height,  and  the  women  five  feet 
seven  inches.  The  soft,  reddish  brown  hair  of  the  women  is 
neither  wiry  like  that  of  the  Indian,  nor  kinky  and  black  like 
that  of  the  negro,  but  fine  and  straight. 

The  remains,  indeed,  indicate  that  these  denizens  of 
pre-Columbian  America  may  have  been  comely  women  and 
strong,  intelligent  men. 

Surely,  from  their  homogeneous  character,  beauty,  and 
precision  in  detail  of  construction,  we  must  believe  that  the 
cave-dwellings  and  the  domestic  articles  found  in  them  are  the 
work  of  a  great  people,  whose  civilization  was  of  a  higher 
order  than  that  of  the  tribes  which  have  succeeded  them. 

PRESTON  H.  UBERROTH,  U.  S.  R.  M. 


A  Builded  Lake. 

A  reservoir  of  water  for  mining  purposes  or  the  irrigation 
of  land  usually  costs  vastly  more  in  money  and  in  time  than 
any  one  would  think  of  devoting  to  such  an  undertaking,  if 
nature  could  be  trusted  to  send  rain  enough  for  the  work 
intended.  But  in  a  large  portion  of  the  far  West  of  the  United 
States  rain  comes  seldom,  and  when  it  does  fall  the  time  is 
winter  or  early  spring,  though  the  water  is  especially  needed 
in  summer.  It  comes  in  torrents,  rushes  down  the  mountain- 
sides, roars  into  rocky  canons,  and  vanishes,  leaving  its  traces 
only  in  washed-out  mountain  trails,  countless  gullies  and 
undermined  railroad  tracks. 

The  plan  of  water-storage  is  to  catch  the  water  as  it  falls 
in  the  winter-time,  store  it  up  in  a  huge  reservoir,  and  use  it 
for  irrigation  in  the  summer  season. 

The  site  of  the  lake-basin  should  be  shut  in  by  hills,  with 
an  outlet  through  some  narrow  cut  in  the  rocks,  as  at  the 
mouth  of  a  canon,  which  can  be  easily  closed  by  a  dam.  The 
area  drained  by  the  lake  should  be  as  large  as  possible,  so 
that  the  water-supply  may  fill  the  reservoir  every  year.  Then, 
too,  if  the  water  is  to  be  used  for  irrigation  or  mining,  the 
dam  must  be  built  somewhere  near  the  ground  to  be  worked. 

The  simplest  way  of  locating  a  storage-lake  would  be 
to  discover  some  ancient  lake-basin  and  close  its  outlet, 
precisely  as  was  done  in  building  the  reservoir  at  Walnut 
Grove,  Arizona. 

The  dam  at  this  place  stands  one  hundred  and  ten  feet 
high  above  bed-rock,  and  is  four  hundred  and  ten  feet  long 
across  the  top.  It  is  a  huge  wedge  of  stone,  built  up  of 
four  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  cubic  yards  of  rock,  and 
sealed  by  an  apron  of  three-inch  planks,  calked  and  painted 
with  asphalt,  as  stanch  as  the  sides  of  a  ship. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  work  Walnut  Grove  was  in  the 


174 


A   BUII/DED    I,AKE. 


wilderness,  fifty  miles  from  any  place,  but  a  town  sprang  up 
quickly  about  the  site.  Hundreds  of  men  were  constantly 
engaged  on  the  job,  all  the  day  and  all  the  electric-lighted 
night,  for  nearly  a  year,  during  which  time  no  rain  fell.  This 
unusually  long  absence  of  rain  was  a  great  source  of  good 
fortune  to  the  builders ;  but  when  all  was  completed  we 
anxiously  desired  a  flood,  that  the  great  structure  might  be 
tested. 

We  grew  impatient  and  began  to  doubt  whether  such  a 


The  Valley. 

brazen  sky  could  rain,  and  whether,  if  it  did,  all  the  water  in 
the  territory  could  fill  that  immense  lake-basin,  which  lay 
parched  and  lifeless  beneath  the  blistering  Arizona  sun. 
Indeed,  the  outlook  seemed  dubious  enough.  There  lay  the 
outstretched  water-basin,  a  very  desert  in  barrenness,  its  red 
volcanic  soil  aggravating  the  sense  of  aridity  derived  from 


LAKE. 


seeing  the  lurid  heat.  In  the  basin  were  brown  grass,  brown 
rocks,  stunted  oak-brush,  withering  cactus,  cattle  dying  on  the 
road  to  water,  the  only  water  in  sight  a  sluggish  creek  winding 
through  the  valley  and  sinking,  at  intervals,  out  of  sight 
beneath  the  sand. 

The  flood-gates  had  been  closed  three  months  in  expecta- 
tion of  the  rains,  but  winter  had  come  and  gone  without  even 
a  sprinkle.  Heavy  snow  had  lain  on  the  mountain  since 
February,  but  no  rain  had  fallen  to  bring  the  snow  down  in  a 


freshet.     At   last,  in  April,  came  a   driving  wind  and   rain, 
blown  in  from  the  Gulf  of  California. 

Rain-drops  as  big  as  marbles  bounded  from  boulder  to 
boulder  and  down  into  the  lake-basin.  Every  groove  in  the 
rocks  fed  a  hollow,  the  hollows  fed  the  streams  and  the 
streams  quickly  grew  into  torrents  that  tore  their  way  through 


176  A    BUIUDED    LAKK. 

the  empty  creek-beds.  The  lake-level  rose  three  feet  in  an 
hour,  but  the  effects  of  the  warm  rain  on  the  mountains  had 
yet  to  be  seen. 

At  midnight  a  cowboy  rode  in  on  horseback,  breathless 
with  excitement,  to  tell  us,  "There's  a  wave  from  fifty  to  a 
hundred  feet  high  crashing  down  the  valley  !  ' ' 

We  seized  our  pouches  and  lanterns  and  started  for  the 
boom.  We  could  hear  the  roar  of  the  river,  ten  miles  away, 
but  it  was  an  hour  before  it  rushed  in  upon  us,  twenty  feet 
high  and  fifty  feet  across,  a  great  tidal  wave,  seething  with 
foam,  carrying  trees,  boulders,  everything  before  it.  Then 
followed  the  deafening  boom  of  the  other  creeks,  as  one  after 
another  they  came  down. 

We  hurried  back  to  camp,  to  find  our  approach  nearly  cut 
off  by  the  rising  water.  Everybody  was  awake  and  rustling. 
The  croakers,  who  had  built  on  the  flat  in  defiance  of  the 
dam-level,  were  scurrying  about  in  the  dark,  scooping  their 
belongings  into  gunny-sacks  and  rushing  up  the  hill  to 
establish  new  claims  above  the  one-hundred- and- ten-foot  line. 

By  morning  the  rain-gage  showed  a  rainfall  of  two 
inches,  but  this  gave  no  clue  to  the  rise  in  the  lake.  We 
looked  out  at  daybreak  to  find  the  face  of  the  country  entirely 
changed.  The  rocky  water-basin  of  yesterday  was  now  a 
lake,  three-quarters  of  a  mile  wide,  a  mile  and  a  half  long  and 
eighty  feet  deep  by  the  dam,  on  which  floated  logs,  tree- 
trunks,  fence-rails  and  islands  of  sawdust  that  had  drifted 
down  from  the  sawmill  above. 

Roads,  trails  and  cabins  had  disappeared.  We  found 
ourselves  entirely  at  sea,  and  had  to  look  off  repeatedly  to  the 
distant  mountains  to  find  where  we  were.  Even  the  cattle 
looked  confused.  Being  used  to  a  swallow  of  muddy  water 
from  the  creek,  they  stood  appalled  at  the  ocean  that  lay 
before  them,  and  refused  to  drink. 

The  change  in  the  landscape  was  too  sudden  to  realize  at 
once,  the  smooth  expanse  of  water  being  so  striking  a  contrast 
to  the  rocky  water-basin  it  displayed.  We  had  known 


A   BUILDED    LAKE. 


177 


beforehand  exactly  how  high  the  lake  would  rise  when  the 
dam  was  full,  but  imagination  had  not  pictured  to  us  the 
beauty  and  variety  of  the  constantly  changing  outlook. 

As  the  lake-bottom  sloped  very  gradually  upward,  a  slight 
increase  in  depth  added  greatly  to  the  size  of  the  lake. 
Hillsides  disappeared  under  water  to  become  shelving  beaches 
and  fine  swimming-grounds,  rocky  cliffs  became  islands  or 
steep  promontories,  curves  in  the  creek-beds  made  peninsulas, 
valleys  between  the  hills  became  bays,  all  changed  as  by 
magic  when  the  water  rose. 

It  continued  to  rise  for  three  weeks  longer,  until  the  lake 
stood  one  hundred  and  five  feet  deep,  covering  seven  hundred 
and  fifty  acres.  The  debris  on  the  surface  gradually  sank, 
leaving  the  lake  surprisingly  clear  and  blue,  like  a  translucent 
amethyst  in  its  setting  of  terra-cotta  hills. 

HELEN  FRANCES  BATES. 


The  Oldest  American  Houses. 

Santa  F£  is  said  to  be  the  oldest  city  in  America.  That 
the  statement  is  not  true  would  be  hard  to  prove,  because  the 
question  of  its  origin  and  age  is  wrapped  in  mystery. 

When  Coronado  explored  Mexico  in  1540,  he  found  many 
Indian  pueblos  on  the  Rio  Grande  River,  and  speaks  of 
several  which  must  have  been  near  the  present  location  of 
Santa  Fe.  The  one  which  it  is  generally  supposed  was  on  its 
precise  site  at  that  time  stretched  along  its  river-banks  for  six 
miles.  Coronado  reported  that  he  found  here  a  beautiful  and 
fertile  valley,  under  high  cultivation  by  the  Indians. 

Visiting  Santa  F£  to-day  it  is  hard  to  realize,  ancient  as 
the  old  ruins  look,  that  one  can  really  be  gazing  on  walls 
which  Coronado  saw  nearly  three  centuries  and  a  half  ago. 

It  is  still  harder  to  realize  what  must  have  been  the 
oppressions  and  cruelties  which  have  brought  about  the 
present  degraded  and  wretched  condition  of  the  Indians  whose 
ancestors  formerly  occupied  and  cultivated  the  whole  valley. 
That  a  race  which,  over  three  hundred  years  ago,  had  reached 
comfort  and  success  in  agricultural  and  pastoral  occupations, 
should  be  to-day  an  abject,  supine,  wretched  race  of  beggars, 
is  a  melancholy  comment  011  the  injustice  they  have  received. 
They  did  not  sink  without  struggles. 

Santa  Fe,  being  the  seat  of  government,  was  always  the 
point  of  attack,  the  chief  centre  of  strife,  and  very  terrible 
scenes  have  been  enacted  there.  As  late  as  1837,  a  Mexican 
governor  who  had  ruled  with  great  severity  and  laid  oppres- 
sive and  unjust  taxes  on  the  Indians'  crops,  was  murdered  by 
them  under  circumstances  of  tragic  horror. 

The  struggle  which  took  place  at  this  time  was  the  last 
the  Indians  made.  They  were  soon  subdued,  and  remained 
peaceable  till  they  came,  with  the  rest  of  the  New  Mexico 
citizens,  under  the  government  of  the  United  States  in  1846. 


THE   OLDEST   AMERICAN   HOUSES. 


I79 


There  is  still  standing  in  Santa  Fe  one  building  which  has 
been  the  home  of  the  most  prominent  persons,  and  the  scene 
of  the  most  important  events,  through  all  these  vicissitudes  of 
the  city  and  its  government.  It  is  still  called,  as  it  was  called 
three  hundred  years  ago,  "  The  Palace."  Anything  less  like 
a  palace  could  hardly  be  conceived  of.  It  is  a  low  adobe 
building,  one  story  high,  with  a  veranda  running  its  entire 
length.  It  makes  the  north  wall  of  the  plaza,  and  in  it 
are  still  the  governor's  home  and  all  the  offices  of  the 


The  Indian  House. 

government ;  the  United  States  and  territorial  court-room, 
libraries,  Congress  halls,  etc.  It  has  been  so  often  repaired 
that  it  has  lost  much  of  its  ancient  look,  but  the  massive  walls 
and  heavy  hewn  beams  remain  unchanged,  and  will,  no  doubt, 
bear  their  mute  witness  to  its  antiquity  for  a  century  or  more 
to  come. 

The  plaza  on  which  it  fronts  is  two  and  a  half  acres 
square,  well-shaded,  provided  with  seats,  and,  commanding  a 
view  of  all  the  life  there  is  in  the  town,  it  is  the  best  possible 
point  from  which  to  gather  an  impression  of  Santa  F£. 


i8o 


THE   OLDEST   AMERICAN    HOUSES. 


Sitting  there,  looking  at  the  governor's  old  palace  on  the 
north,  and  the  row  of  smart  Jew  shops  on  the  south,  at  the 
low  and  half-crumbling  mud-walls  and  houses,  and  the  big 
new  brick  and  wooden  buildings  cropping  out  here  and  there, 
and  overtopping  everything,  one  sees  an  effective  picture  of 
the  clashing  of  the  new  and  the  old. 

It  is  the  new  that  suffers  most  by  contrast.  The  long,  low 
adobes,  with  their  lines  of  absolute  simplicity,  and  their  soft 
yellow-gray  color,  seeni  far  more  dignified  than  the  modern 


Street  in  Santa  Fe. 

wooden  building,  or  even  the  substantial  brick  one,  with 
copings  and  facings  of  different  colors.  Contrasts  no  less 
marked  will  be  seen  in  the  passers-by  in  the  streets.  The 
successions  are  almost  fantastic. 

Close  on  the  heels  of  two  dapper  young  Americans  in  a 
buggy,  with  surveying  instruments  and  charts  in  their  hands, 
comes  a  Mexican  cart,  creeping  along,  drawn  by  oxen ;  its 
wheels  are  circles  of  solid  wood,  sections  of  tree-trunks, 


THE   OLDEST   AMERICAN    HOUSES.  l8l 

roughly  hewn,  with  an  irregularly-shaped  hole  in  the  centre, 
in  which  creaks  the  rough-hewn  axle. 

The  driver  is  in  rags  and  dirty,  but  he  wears  a  fine  broad- 
brimmed  sombrero,  with  a  roll  of  twisted  silver  wire  and  straw 
around  the  crown  ;  and  as  he  goes  he  sings  a  lilting  song  to 
himself,  or  whistles  softly,  or  takes  a  nap  in  his  cart,  and 
he  would  not  change  places  with  the  hard-working  young 
surveyors  if  he  could. 

Sauntering  through  the  plaza,  and  looking  curiously,  with 
furtive  glances,  at  strangers,  come  his  sweetheart  and  her 
friend.  They  wear  trailing  cotton  gowns,  sweeping  a  foot 
behind  them,  and  begrimed  half-way  up  the  skirt  with  the 
impalpable,  ineradicable  Santa  F£  dust ;  they  would  feel 
humiliated  to  lift  them,  and  to  wear  them  short  would  be 
disgrace. 

To  be  unconscious  of  dirt,  superior  to  it,  is  dignity.  On 
their  heads  they  wear  gay  shawls,  black  with  gaudy  flowers, 
or  white  striped  like  a  rainbow.  With  one  hand  they  hold  the 
shawl-folds  firm  over  their  mouths,  their  soft,  but  passionate 
black  eyes  gleaming  out  of  the  triangular  opening  above,  as 
from  the  bars  of  a  prison- window.  They  are  used  to  only 
half-seeing  ;  for  the  few  windows  they  have  in  their  houses 
are  without  glass,  and  shut  off  from  the  street  by  jail-like 
gratings  of  close-set  wooden  rails. 

Behind  them  comes,  with  brisk  step  and  erect  carriage,  an 
American  woman,  the  wife  or  sister,  perhaps,  of  some  officer 
of  the  fort  garrison.  She  is  dressed  in  the  last  Paris  style ; 
nothing  escapes  her  eyes ;  as  she  passes  the  sauntering 
Mexican  damsels  she  glances  disdainfully  at  their  dusty 
trains  ;  and  they  in  turn  speak  scornfully  to  each  other  of  her 
needless  uncovering  of  her  ankles. 

In  a  few  moments,  to  complete  the  human  panorama,  there 
go  stalking  along  outside  the  plaza  paling  a  group  of  Pueblo 
Indians,  bareheaded,  wrapped  in  scarlet  blankets.  The 
dignity  of  their  bearing  and  the  grace  of  their  drapery  put 
both  Mexican  and  American  to  shame. 


182 


THE   OLDEST   AMERICAN   HOUSES. 


Nothing  can  be  finer.  Roman  senators  in  togas  never 
folded  their  arms  better,  or  stood  straighter.  They  make  for 
the  shops.  They  have  walked  all  the  way  in  from  their 
village,  twelve  miles  or  more,  having  made  a  little  money  by 
selling  some  of  their  pottery.  They  have  come  in  to  spend 
the  last  dollar  of  it. 

The  two  most  interesting  ruins  in  Santa  F£  are  the  San 

Miguel  Church  and  an 
old  building  opposite  it, 
called  the  Indian  House. 
This  is,  undoubtedly, 
the  oldest  house  in 
America.  It  is  a  rough, 
two-story  adobe,  with  a 
low,  narrow  door,  and 
with  windows  like  port- 
holes. The  logs  that 
hold  up  the  dirt  roof 
show  no  signs  of  decay, 
and  the  building  is 
yet  used  as  a  tenement- 
house.  The  church  is 
also  of  adobe,  but  built 
on  a  foundation  of  small  stones  laid  in  mortar,  which  is  the 
reason  of  its  wonderful  preservation.  It  was  first  built  in 
1640,  was  partially  destroyed  by  the  Indians  in  their  revolt  in 
1680,  and  built  up  again  in  1710.  The  interior  of  the  church 
is  vStill  in  tolerable  repair,  and  service  is  held  in  it. 

The  altitude  of  Santa  Fe  is  a  little  over  seven  thousand 
feet.  Its  winters  are  sunny  and  mild  ;  a  little  snow  falls 
occasionally,  but  it  never  lies  long,  and  the  air  is  exception- 
ally dry. 

HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON. 


San  Miguel. 


New   Mexico. 

It  was  midnight  when  we  were  landed  at  the  Santa  F£ 
station,  on  the  south  side  of  the  town.  The  moon  was  shining 
brightly.  In  a  moment  I  was  riding,  in  effect,  through  foreign 
streets.  They  were  narrow,  rocky,  lined  with  squatty, 
unlighted,  silent,  sombre  adobe  houses.  It  seemed  as  if  a 
gentle,  fun-making  earthquake  had  jostled  them  out  of  line, 
tilted  them  off  base,  started  them  down  grade,  perched  them 
in  awkwardness.  Un-American  !  Old !  I  cannot  conceive 
of  a  time  when  those  old  adobes  were  not  there,  sprouts  from 
the  adobe  soil,  as  it  were. 

The  next  day  after  I  arrived  at  Santa  F£  I  asked  the  price 
of  a  large  plum  of  a  Mexican  dealer. 

"  Five  cents  ;  not  less  could  be." 

"  One  for  three  cents  ?  "  I  asked. 

With  scorn  the  dealer  replied,  "  No  three  cent  here  !  Five 
cents  lessest  money  here.  One  plum,  two,  three,  four  plum  — 
all  same  ;  five  cent." 

Seller,  buyer,  Spanish,  American  people  alike  have  here 
contempt  for  the  change-making  of  the  East,  all  declaring  that 
they  would  not  live  with  people  so  mean  as  to  bother  with 
change  for  five  cents. 

One  reason  why  provision-dealers  in  these  mountain  towns 
can  sell  their  wares  nearly  at  Eastern  prices  is,  because  in 
the  cool,  pure,  dry  air  of  New  Mexico,  foods  do  not  spoil. 
In  Santa  F£  the  tradesman  delivers  you  a  slice  of  butter  as  he 
does  a  slice  of  cheese  with  no  fear,  even  in  July,  of  its 
melting,  and  it  reaches  the  consumer  in  August  as  firm  as  in 
December. 

Rents  average  somewhat  higher  in  this  little-understood 
territory  than  in  the  Mississippi  Valley,  but  the  fine  climate 
confers  on  your  apartments  unexpected  adaptability.  The 
comfort  possible  in  a  couple  of  adobe-rooms,  which  are  usually 


184  NEW  MEXICO. 

large,  is  a  surprise  to  a  person  brought  up  in  the  North. 
Bivouacking  is  possible  every  day,  and  makes  indoor  comforts 
less  imperative.  You  can  go  picnicking  forty-eight  out  of 
fifty-two  weeks. 

Nowhere  are  sun  and  air  on  better  behavior.  There  is 
scarcely  a  summer  morning  when  a  light  pinon  fire  would  be 
oppressive  ;  scarcely  a  winter  noon  when  you  might  not 
dispense  with  all  fire. 

I  had  ever  at  hand,  ready-made,  the  means  for  keeping  a 
comfortable  bodily  temperature.  If  the  air  was  too  cool,  I 
moved  into  the  sunshine ;  if  unduly  warm,  into  the  shade, 
and  the  relief  was  always  immediate  and  complete. 

I  had  heard  that  the  people  were  foreign,  unapproachable 
and  unsympathizing  !  Instead  of  this,  in  the  most  cordial 
friendliness  they  began  at  once  to  advise  me  what  to  do,  and 
what  not  to  do,  to  get  the  full  value  of  my  visit. 

Mexican  ladies  are  chary  about  seeking  the  acquaintance 
or  friendship  of  visiting  States  people,  but  they  are  responsive 
to  your  advances  or  calls. 

If  you  ask  a  Mexican  gentleman  to  direct  you  to  some 
place,  he  will  not  only  give  you  the  information,  but  will  give 
time,  if  it  seems  to  him  necessary,  in  showing  you  to  the 
place  and  explaining  noticeable  features.  At  parting  he  will 
thank  you  for  the  pleasant  hour  you  have  given  him. 

A  Mexican  lady  acquaintance  cheerfully  spent  a  morning 
showing  me  from  one  place  to  another,  looking  for  rooms, 
pointing  out  advantages  and  disadvantages,  advising  me  as 
to  prices  and  neighborhoods. 

When  it  was  known  that  I  intended  to  furnish  rooms, 
there  came  the  most  surprising  offers  of  loans  —  blankets, 
pillows,  chairs,  desk,  table. 

Beside  loans  I  was  offered  gifts,  as  a  cook-stove  from  an 
Alabamian  who  declared  that  she  couldn't  eat  stove-cooked 
food,  and  that  her  cook  would  use  nothing  but  the  fireplace, 
as  they  did  down  South. 

A  Spanish  friend  sent  word,  "  I  will  lend  you  my  Mexican 


NEW   MEXICO. 


185 


to  make  you  a  fireplace.  There's  one  in  that  angle  of  the 
wall.  He'll  open  it.'' 

They  close  fireplaces  in  a  free  and  easy  way  down  there. 
They  break  up  a  little  space  of  the  yard,  stir  in  water,  and  fill 
the  fireplace  to  the  jambs  with  the  plastic  clay.  The  mud  is 
then  smoothed  with  the  hand,  trowel-like,  finishing  with  mud 
whose  brown  has  been  lightened  with  coloring  matter. 

The  Mexican  that  was  loaned  to  me  cut  into  the  adobe 
packing  with  which  some  former  tenant  has  filled  the  fireplace, 
carried  it  into  the  yard,  brought  it  back  plastic,  smeared  it 
over  jambs,  hearth  and  mantelpiece,  finishing  all  smoothly  by 


A   Mexican  Street. 


the  pliable  hand.  It  was  all  by  primitive  methods,  but  the 
comfort  and  health  that  resulted  from  that  bright  little  adobe 
fireplace  will  make  the  name  of  one  Spanish  senora  a  sound  of 
music  to  my  heart. 

You  have  heard,  no  doubt,  that  the  people  of  New  Mexico 
are  lazy,  to  use  plain  English  ;  that  the  territory  is  the  land 
of  Manana  —  the  land  of  to-morrow. 

Before  I  deny  or  confirm  that  statement,  let  me  ask,  Who 


l86  NEW    MEXICO. 

are  the  people  of  New  Mexico?  By  the  census  of  1890  it 
had  more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  inhabitants, 
without  counting  the  Indians  on  the  reservations.  The  area 
being  so  vast  and  the  population  so  scattered,  there  is  some 
difference  in  the  estimate. 

About  one-fourth  of  the  entire  population  are  Americans, 
and  a  large  part  of  these  were  born  in  New  Mexico.  The 
Americans  of  New  Mexico  are  the  equals  in  culture  and  in 
enterprise  of  the  Americans  in  any  part  of  the  United  States. 

Of  the  people  not  American,  about  one-eighth  are  of 
Spanish  descent  and  three-eighths  of  Indian  descent.  The 
other  half  are  of  a  mixed  race,  Spanish  and  Indians,  by  the 
Americans  commonly  called  greasers. 

To  say,  "The  rich  people  are  Spanish,  the  poor  are 
Mexicans,"  is  a  taunt  in  New  Mexico.  There  is  a  proud 
protest  in  many  minds  against  being  consigned  to  that 
bottomless  genealogical  pit  entitled  Mexican.  On  the  other 
hand,  I  have  met  many  people  of  pure  Spanish  blood  who 
resent  being  called  Spaniards,  claiming  with  pride  that  they 
are  Mexicans. 

If  people  mean  that  the  peasant  or  laboring  Mexican  is 
lazy,  my  observation  leads  me  to  contradict  the  statenient. 
In  a  climate  so  invigorating  as  that  of  New  Mexico,  laziness 
is  hardly  possible.  Mexicans  are  indifferent  to  many  things 
about  which  the  people  of  the  United  States  are  anxious,  and 
for  which  they  struggle. 

Some  conditions  of  comfort  regarded  as  essential,  the 
Mexican  has  without  the  cost  of  labor  or  money.  A  large 
percentage  of  the  world's  work  is  done  to  keep  the  bodily 
temperature  within  its  narrow  normal  range.  In  New  Mexico 
this  work  is  not  needed,  for  there  is  but  little  extreme  cold  or 
extreme  heat  to  guard  against. 

"  Make  hay  while  the  sun  shines,"  has  small  significance 
in  a  land  where  there  are  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days  of 
sunshine  in  the  year,  and  where  there  are  four  or  five  crops  of 
hay  to  the  season,  and  not  a  stack  or  a  mow  is  ever  mildewed. 


NEW   MEXICO.  187 

The  fact  is  that  the  Mexican  peasants  are  workers  from 
childhood.  They  are  reserved  toward  Americans.  They  do 
not  importune  for  work,  but  I  never  asked  one  for  service  of 
any  kind  that  I  did  not  get  the  service  at  reasonable  price. 
There  is  no  task  that  a  Mexican  will  not  undertake,  especially 
if  he  can  reenforce  himself  by  the  assistance  of  a  burro. 

The  burro,  facetiously  called  ' '  the  sweet  singer  of  Mexico, ' ' 
has  a  range  of  only  two  notes,  but  these  are  powerful.  This 
is  what  heartless  people  say  of  the  burro.  "The  perfect 
playmate  for  boys  "  would  be  a  more  just  title. 

All  the  children  of  New  Mexico  learn  to  ride  burros,  which 


Burros  and  their  Burdens. 

are  as  docile  and  harmless  as  hobby-horses.  One  often  sees 
four  or  five  boys  on  one  of  these  patient  creatures,  or  two  or 
more  men,  their  legs  dangling  almost  to  the  ground.  It  is 
not  a  matter  for  surprise  that  brute  playmates  have  been 
expressed  to  New  York  and  other  Eastern  cities  for  children's 
use  in  learning,  without  danger,  saddle-riding  and  driving. 

The  loads  that  the  burros  will  carry  are  remarkable.  They 
take  the  place  of  market- wagons.  I  recall  a  caravan  of  a 
score  of  these  pack-animals  under  one  driver.  They  would 
come  to  town  laden  with  melons,  or  mission  grapes,  or  other 
wares,  bringing  loads  larger  and  heavier  than  themselves. 


i88 


NKW   MEXICO. 


lyike  soldiers  under  drill,  they  would  range  themselves  in 
ranks  before  a  store  on  the  sidewalk.  Nobody  was  offended 
or  afraid,  for  they  were  cleanly  and  harmless. 

As  soon  as  one  was  unpacked  he  would  walk  off  into  the 
street,  where  he  was  sure  to  find  something  to  eat,  if  only  a 
bit  of  paper.  The  goat  is  no  more  nearly  omnivorous  than 
the  Mexican  burro. 

In  a  ride  of  fifteen  miles  out  of  Santa  Fe  I  once  met  two 
hundred  and  fifty-three  burros,  with  packs,  industriously 
plying  their  mouse-colored  legs.  The  loads  were  largely 
cedar  and  pinon  wood,  cut  and  split. 

I  have  seen  a  burro  carrying  a  cook-stove,  or  bringing  over 
mountain-roads  timbers  for  a  house.  When  they  are  carrying 
unbaled  hay  they  present  a  most  amusing  appearance.  One 
sees  the  great  ears  working,  a  tail  switching,  and  four  little 
hoofs  twinkling  ;  all  the  rest  is  a  moving  haystack. 

If  there  was  ever  a  flesh  and  blood  creature  capable  of 
living  on  a  straw  a  day,  it  is  the  hardy,  faithful  Mexican 
burro.  So  inexpensive  is  its  keeping,  with  its  unstable  habits 
of  life,  that  the  poorest  peasant  can  afford  the  comfort  of  this 
helpful  companion,  the  friend  of  the  mountaineer.  It  will 
obey  every  tone  of  the  master,  every  touch  of  his  hand.  But 
a  stranger  must  study  burros  well  to  get  their  best  service. 

SARAH  WINTER  KEivi<oGG. 


ri^v*    ^^s^g-- 

___^     -         -----    ...  -•_—         -  *.*-u2sBS5£«.-' 


Adobe. 

I  have  frequently  watched  the  making  of  adobes  by  the 
natives  of  New  Mexico.  Adobes  are  sun-dried  bricks  about 
twelve  inches  long,  eight  wide  and  two  deep.  They  are  used 
where  the  States'  people  would  employ  kiln-seasoned  bricks 
and  stone,  and  for  niany  purposes  for  which  lumber  is  used  in 
a  wooded  section.  Fences,  for  instance,  are  largely  made  of 
adobes  ;  corrals,  gardens,  orchards,  yards,  churches,  schools 
and  convents  are  enclosed  by  walls  built  of  adobes. 

These  mud  walls  are  often  seen  with  cacti  planted  thickly 
on  their  tops,  as  a  double  security  against  thieving  or  other 
purposes.  When  cacti  are  not  easily  procurable,  the  walls 
are  defended  by  broken  glass  bottles,  imbedded  in  the  top 
round  of  bricks  before  they  are  thoroughly  dry. 

On  lines  where  protection  is  not  called  for,  I  have  seen  the 
tops  of  these  fences  picturesquely  ornamented  with  bright 
flowering  plants,  such  as  scarlet  and  yellow  cacti,  the  wild 
sunflower,  the  Spanish  bayonet  and  the  Mexican  lily. 

When  a  house  is  to  be  built,  an  addition  to  be  made  to  one, 
an  oven  to  be  built  or  a  fireplace,  or  a  piece  of  ground  to  be 
enclosed,  the  enterprising  Mexican  assembles  his  helpers  as 
at  a  primitive  house-raising.  The  first  move  is  to  spade 
up  a  patch  of  ground,  often  a  portion  of  his  own  front  yard. 
Sometimes,  as  an  act  of  friendliness,  the  adobe-maker  gets 
permission  to  spade  up  a  neighbor's  yard,  or  a  vacant  lot  near 
the  building  site. 

The  ground  being  well  broken,  water  is  brought  on  and 
the  mixing  is  begun.  As  the  surface,  before  the  breaking, 
was  in  all  probability  but  carelessly  swept,  many  bits  not 
essential  to  good  bricks  get  mixed  in  the  mud  —  bits  of  glass, 
stone,  pottery,  tin,  wire,  chips,  rags,  etc.  But  it  is  not  in  the 
purpose  of  the  adobe-makers  to  use  other  materials  than  water 
and  the  soil  everywhere  found. 


igo 


ADOBK. 


There  is  a  little  preliminary  mixing  with  hoe  and  spade, 
but  shortly  the  workers  strip  to  the  waist,  bare  the  feet,  roll 
above  the  knees  whatever  there  may  be  of  trousers  legs,  and 
walk  bravely  into  the  mud.  Standing  in  the  brown  mixture 
of  precisely  his  own  color,  the  expressionless,  statuesque 
Mexican  might,  by  an  easy  reach  of  fancy,  be  regarded  as  an 


Making  Adobe. 

outgrowth  of  the  adobe  mud.  Now  hands  and  feet  reenforce 
spade  and  hoe,  until  the  mixing  is  complete. 

Rough  wooden  molds  are  then  filled  by  the  hands  with  the 
mud,  and  scraped  level  by  the  hands.  The  molds  are  carried 
away  a  short  distance  and  the  molded  mud  is  tipped  out  on 
the  ground. 

There  the  adobes  lie  for  days  or  weeks,  sunning,  while  the 
owners  are  sunning  themselves  against  adobe  walls  centuries 
old,  it  may  be.  There  is  no  fear  of  the  blocks  being  spoiled 


ADOBE.  IQI 

by  rain,  in  this  white  and  bright  land  where  the  sun  shines 
three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days  in  the  year. 

The  mud-bricks  being  sufficiently  baked  on  one  side,  they 
are  turned  over,  and  in  time,  on  edge,  until  all  sides  and  edges 
have  had  the  effect  of  a  sufficient  period  of  direct  sunshine. 

An  Kastern  brickmaker  would  regard  these  adobe  bricks 
as  rough,  uneven,  unsightly.  But  they  have  their  merits. 
Their  making  does  not  call  for  any  skilled  labor ;  they  can  be 
made  in  a  day,  dried  without  expense,  and  can  be  laid  by 
inexperienced  hands.  They  form  such  inexpensive  building 
material  that  the  poorest  man  can  have  his  own  house. 

I  have  seen  many  a  comfortable  adobe  house  of  four 
rooms,  plastered  well  inside  and  out,  erected  at  a  cost  of  five 
hundred  dollars. 

I  choose  the  adjective  comfortable  advisedly.  Without 
the  shelter  of  a  tree,  in  a  land  of  perennial  sunshine,  an  adobe 
house  furnishes  a  complete  protection  from  summer  heat, 
however  high  the  mercury  may  be.  The  earth  walls  never 
get  heated  through  in  such  a  climate  as  New  Mexico's; 
neither  do  they  ever  get  chilled  through. 

In  the  shelter  of  an  adobe  house,  you  can  forget  that  there 
is  winter  cold  or  summer  heat. 

The  Mexican  peasant  builds  an  unpretentious  lodge,  but 
for  comfort  it  will  stand  comparison  with  the  peasant-house  of 
any  land.  He  lays  the  adobes  on  the  bare  earth,  builds  up 
two  or  three  feet,  then  waits  some  days  to  insure  the  walls' 
dry  ness,  builds  a  few  more  feet  and  again  waits. 

When  his  wall  has  reached  a  height  of  ten  or  twelve  feet 
he  stops.  Then  he  lays  on  the  beams  or  rafters,  usually 
of  the  unbarked  trunks  of  the  pinon-trees,  not  fully  grown. 
The  pinon  is  the  mountain  pine  of  the  nut-bearing  variety. 

The  rafters  are  not  of  uniform  length.  Some  project  a  foot 
over  the  wall,  others  more  than  a  yard,  furnishing  a  place  for 
drying  plants,  or  for  the  storing  of  hay,  or  for  the  roosting  of 
Mexican  boys  ambitious  enough  to  climb  to  the  roof. 

These  rafters  are  the  support  for  the  thick  planks  or  boards 


192  ADOBE. 

laid  closely  across,  which  are  to  receive  the  dry  adobe  dirt. 
This  is  piled  on,  to  the  thickness  of  about  thirty  inches.  This 
makes  a  dry,  warm  roof,  on  which,  in  the  course  of  time, 
chance  seeds  take  root,  causing  a  little  forest  of  plants  to 
spring  up  on  the  low  roofs. 

The  dirt  roofs  are  safe  as  long  as  the  timbers  are  sound, 
and  the  timbers,  being  measurably  protected  from  damp  and 
air,  remain  good  for  long  periods. 

But  ants  sometimes  find  out  the  rafters  of  a  house  and 
honeycomb  them,  making  no  visible  sign  of  their  presence. 
The  timber  then  suddenly  gives  way,  letting  down  the  mass 
of  earth,  imperilling  life  and  injuring  the  house's  belongings. 
The  brother  of  a  Santa  Fe  banker  once  lost  his  life  by  the 
falling  in  of  one  of  these  dirt  roofs.  Many  adobe  houses, 
however,  both  old  and  new,  have  roofs  of  a  better  character. 

One  might  think  that  the  adobe  house  would  be  a  perish- 
able structure.  In  a  land  of  rains,  of  much  freezing  and 
thawing,  it  might  be ;  but  there  are  adobe  houses  in  New 
Mexico  and  Arizona  centuries  old,  and  as  good  as  when  first 
built. 

Some  adobe  houses  have  walls  eight  feet  thick.  These 
were  built  not  only  for  sure  protection  against  heat  and  cold, 
but  also  as  defences  against  Indians  and  other  enemies. 

The  adobe  house  is  the  outcome  of  ages  of  experience 
in  a  climate  of  peculiar  conditions.  The  Americans  have 
introduced  some  architectural  improvements,  but  they  have 
taught  the  Mexicans  little  of  real  value  in  their  climate. 

Even  the  wealthy  Mexican  of  to-day,  educated,  it  may  be, 
in  Washington  or  St.  Louis,  builds  preferably  an  adobe  house. 
If  one  is  built  on  a  stone  foundation,  with  hooded  windows, 
far-projecting  roof,  with  balconies  or  portals,  there  is  no  more 
comfortable,  weather-proof,  picturesque  dwelling.  For  a 
small  expenditure,  a  house  can  be  built  in  that  delightful 
climate  in  which  not  an  hour  of  discomfort  from  heat  or  cold 
need  be  spent  in  all  the  year. 

SARAH  WINTER 


ON    THE    PLAINS. 


The   Prairie   Schooner. 

The  hull  or  foundation  of  the  prairie  schooner  is  a  double 
box  about  twelve  and  one-half  feet  long.  This  box  is  usually 
three  and  a  half  feet  wide,  though  many  pioneers  extend  the 
upper  box  a  foot  on  each  side  and  support  it  by  iron  braces. 
A  wagon  sheet  stretched  over  four  or  five  good  elm  bows 
covers  the  box,  which  does  not,  however,  comprise  the  whole 
carrying  capacity  of  the  schooner. 

Secured  behind  the  box  \vill  be  seen  a  large  packing-case, 
with  front,  rear  or  sides  of  slats  or  woven  wire.  This  coop  is 
the  home  for  the  long  journey  of  perhaps  a  dozen  hens,  the 
nucleus  for  a  flock  at  the  new  home. 

Biddy  is  worth,  even  during  the  journey,  a  good  deal  more 
than  the  small  trouble  of  carrying  her.  She  supplies  the 
family  with  fresh  eggs  every  day,  for  the  fatigues  of  the 
voyage  do  not  turn  her  from  the  regularity  of  her  habits,  nor 
seem  to  upset  her  nervous  system. 

The  door  of  the  coop  is  opened  when  the  schooner  stops 
for  the  evening  camp  ;  out  fly  the  hens,  and  then  how  the 
dust  flies !  Such  a  fluttering,  scratching  and  cackling ! 
Such  running  after  grasshoppers  and  other  insects  !  But  the 
sinking  sun  soon  warns  them  that  it  is  time  for  all  good  fowls 
to  go  to  roost ;  they  fly  up  to  the  box  as  naturally  as  if  they 
had  never  slept  elsewhere  ;  the  door  is  closed  and  they  are 
ready  for  another  day's  drive. 

On  top  of  the  hen-coop  are  piled  chairs,  stovepipes  and 
other  light,  bulky  articles  ;  boxes  are  fastened  outside  the 
wagon  at  every  convenient  place  to  carry  tools,  cooking 
utensils  and  other  articles.  On  one  side,  held  in  position  by 
iron  rods,  may  be  a  keg  holding  five  or  ten  gallons  of  water, 
a  prime  necessity,  that  must  be  carried  over  many  miles 
of  the  American  desert. 

The  water  found  by  the  way  in  springs  and  stagnant  pools 


196  THE   PRAIRIE   SCHOONER. 

is  often  brackish,  or  alkali  water,  which  cattle  and  horses 
drink  readily  enough,  though  man  refuses  it  as  distasteful. 
The  best  that  can  be  said  for  it  is  that  it  is  wet. 

It  is  not  uncommon  to  see  a  cow,  and  sometimes  a  hog,  led 
by  a  rope  tied  to  the  rear  of  the  wagon.  They  easily  learn 
to  follow,  and  to  find  their  living  on  the  prairie  at  every 
resting-place.  The  daily  fresh  milk  for  the  farmer's  children 
richly  repays  all  needed  care  of  the  cow. 

The  cover  of  the  prairie  schooner  is  not  always  closed  down 
on  the  sides  of  the  box ;  it  has  strings  by  which  it  can  be 
reefed  up  two  feet  or  more  on  each  side,  so  that  the  top  will 
resemble  a  large  umbrella.  Thus  the  inhabitants  can  look 
around  the  horizon  as  they  travel.  Occasionally  one  may  see 
a  row  of  heads  poked  out  under  the  canvas,  some  white  with 
infancy,  some  white  with  old  age  ;  and  it  is  piteous  to  see 
some  poor  old  grandmother  submitted  to  the  hardships  of 
journeying  by  the  prairie  schooner. 

The  long  trip  is  always  an  experience  of  discomfort,  and 
often  of  danger.  Great  gales,  waterspouts  or  washouts  may 
be  encountered  ;  horses  may  be  lost  or  stolen  ;  tires  may  come 
off  or  some  other  accident' may  happen.  Proper  nourishment 
for  the  very  old  and  the  very  young  is  scarcely  to  be  had, 
and  no  wonder  many  die  on  the  voyage. 

But  fate  is  seldom  hard  on  the  pioneer.  Through  all  the 
trials  and  hardships  that  beset  his  path,  he  moves  west  with 
hope  like  a  pillar  of  fire  before  him,  and  the  vision  of  a  new 
home  where  independence  will  reward  his  toil  and  peace  bless 
his  declining  years. 

JAMES 


Prairie   Signs. 


The  Dakota  prairies  are  not  uninteresting,  as  many 
travellers  would  have  their  readers  believe.  Their  monotony 
is  only  apparent.  A  close  study  of  even  the  most  level  and 
apparently  characterless  stretch  of  sod  will  yield  the  most 
surprising  and  interesting  results.  It  is  like  the  ocean  in  its 
immense  sweep  and  changelessness  of  its  lines,  and  in  the 
great  variety  of  its  shades  of  color  and  light-effects. 

But  it  is  unlike  the  ocean  in  retaining  traces  of  change 
upon  its  surface,  mysterious  marks  of  storm  and  fire.  Looked 
at  closely,  the  turf  is  a  page  written  with  strange  and  often 
pathetic  lines,  whole  histories  of  storm  and  stress  of  war. 

One  of  the  signs  first  to  strike  the  eyes  is  the  sight  of  the 
buffaloes'  bones  scattered  thickly  over  the  plain.  Gathering 
them  for  shipment  eastward  became  profitable  to  the  pioneer 
boys.  The  living  buffalo  long  ago  disappeared  from  these 
prairies,  and  the  freshest  crib  of  bones  that  I  saw  dated  back 
ten  years. 

•Many  of  these,  I  suppose,  were  twenty-five  or  even  fifty 
years  old.  Of  these  last  nothing  remained  save  the  hardest 
part  of  the  skull  and  the  teeth.  The  burial-places  of  others, 
still  older,  are  indicated  by  the  more  luxuriant  growth  of  grass. 

Dakota  boys  soon  found  that  the  buffalo  carcasses  on  the 
upland  were  good  places  to  look  for  arrow-heads,  for  the 
Indians  sought  the  young  and  strong  animals,  and  generally 
killed  them  on  the  open  plain.  I  have  seen  arrow-heads  and 
spears  driven  quite  through  the  shoulder-blade,  showing  with 
what  great  force  they  were  sent. 

Next  to  the  bones,  in  interest,  come  the  buffalo  trails,  seen 
everywhere  as  deep,  crooked  furrows.  At  the  place  in  Dakota 
which  I  have  in  mind,  they  ran  from  the  southeast  to  the 
northwest.  These  undoubtedly  show  the  course  of  the 
buffaloes  as  they  came  and  went  from  the  feeding-grounds  to 
the  watering-places. 


1.  GATHERING  BONES. 

2.  TEEPEE  STONES. 

3.  BUFFALO  TRAILS. 

4.  BUFFALO  WALLOWS. 

5.  BUFFALO  BONES. 

6.  INDIAN  CAMP. 

7.  A     CIRCUS  RING." 


PRAIRIE    SIGNS.  199 

Occasionally  on  the  prairies  one  comes  upon  an  Indian 
trail,  shown  by  two  parallel  furrows,  more  direct  and 
purposeful  than  the  buffalo  trails. 

Still  more  interesting  are  the  circles  of  stones  found  very 
plentifully  in  McPherson  County,  indicating  where  the  teepees 
were  pitched.  The  stones,  I  suppose,  served  the  purposes  of 
pegs,  being  laid  on  the  edges  of  the  tents.  As  they  were 
simply  rolled  off  when  the  tent  was  folded,  they  served  in  turn 
for  others. 

I  well  remember  what  a  stir  it  gave  my  imagination,  one 
beautiful  May  morning  in  1863,  as  I  stood  in  the  midst  of  the 
level  sward  in  McPherson  County.  On  the  west  was  the  low, 
irregular  line' of  treeless  hills,  and  on  the  east  the  fresh,  green, 
level  plain,  stretching  into  the  misty  distance  like  the  Atlantic 
Ocean,  the  far-away,  advancing  line  of  shanties,  like  a  fleet  of 
little  boats,  keeping  up  the  illusion  of  a  sea. 

I  was  in  advance  of  civilization.  There  was  no  sound  save 
the  trill  of  the  lark,  the  cry  of  the  plover  or  the  short,  shrill 
shriek  of  the  hawks.  It  was  a  weird  scene.  I  stood  in  the 
centre  of  one  of  these  rings  of  stone,  and  in  imagination  I 
recalled  what  must  have  been  a  characteristic  scene,  as 
characteristic  of  the  land  and  people  as  the  tourney  of  feudal 
England. 

I  saw  the  group  of  tents,  surrounding  the  large  one  of  the 
chief ;  the  horses  picketed,  waiting  the  morning  mount ;  on 
the  far-away  hills  dark  masses  of  buffaloes  and  swifter  masses 
of  antelopes. 

On  a  distant  mound,  like  a  figure  of  bronze,  the  wolf 
stood,  with  long  body  alert  and  head  thrown  side  wise.  Men 
were  swarming  about  the  tents,  some  mounted,  with  arrows 
slung  at  the  back  and  spear  in  hand,  impatient  to  be  off, 
while  the  rest  consulted  and  motioned  toward  the  distant 
herds. 

I  imagined  with  what  joy  the  young  men  vaulted  upon 
their  horses,  and  how  impatient  they  were  to  start.  The 
sunlight  fell  upon  the  plain,  and  the  springing  grass  was 


200  PRAIRIE    SIGNS. 

as  sweet  to  the  eye  as  the  word  to  the  lip.     The  white  man's 
world  was  still  far  away,  almost  unknown. 

It  is  probable  that  the  Indians'  real  life  and  emotions  will 
never  be  written  ;  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  morning  that  I 
got  nearer  to  the  feeling  of  the  wild  huntsmen  of  the  buffalo 
than  ever  before  or  since.  These  Indians  were  not  beasts  nor 
demons,  but  men  living  under  conditions  which  required  and 
produced  savagery  in  some  things. 

One  sign  which  I  have  never  seen  written  of  at  any  length, 
nor  satisfactorily  explained,  is  the  "fairy  circle."  These 
marks  on  the  sod  are  figures  wrought  in  grass  of  a  darker 
green  than  the  rest,  usually  found  in  places  where  the  ground 
is  perfectly  smooth.  They  can  only  be  seen  at  favorable 
seasons  of  the  year,  say  the  first  of  June. 

The  circle  is  of  even  breadth,  and  looks  like  this. 
It   is   thirty   or   forty   feet   in  diameter,  and   has   an 
appearance  as  if   dark-green   grass   had   been   planted   by  a 
gardener  in  the  midst  of  a  yellow-green  sward. 

*  /r  ^\  Sometimes   the   rings  are   mere   crescents, 

((  ([      )    or  crescents  with  a  supplementary  line.     Some- 

^^       ^^      times  the   supplementary  line  is  complete,  in 

©>^\  other  words,  a  circle  having  one  side  much 
(  U\  broader  than  the  other.  Sometimes  it  seems 
>^  to  be  an  attempt  at  representing  a  bow.  This 
last  form  is  very  rare  ;  I  have  seen  but  few  like  it. 

What  these  are  I  certainly  do  not  know.  They  are  too 
large  to  be  the  result  of  tent-setting,  and  besides,  they  would 
not  be  found  in  low  ground  in  such  case.  It  has  been 
supposed  that  they  are  the  marks  left  by  electrical  vortices 
during  storms.  I  think  they  are  the  result  of  intelligent  force  ; 
but  I  have  no  theory. 

I  am  no  more  sure  of  their  cause  than  I  am  of  that  of 
another  phenomenon  to  which  my  attention  was  called. 
There  are  many  instances  where,  in  the  exact  centre  of  a 
shallow  basin  in  the  sod,  a  dip  thirty  or  forty  feet  across, 
there  rests  a  huge  boulder.  The  whole  effect  is  that  of  a 


PRAIRIE   SIGNS.  2OI 

circus  ring,  and  the  children  call  these  depressions  by  this 
name. 

The  depression  is  so  round  and  the  stone  so  exactly  in  the 
centre  that  one  cannot  rid  himself  of  the  impression  that  the 
spot  was  a  threshing-floor  or  a  circus  ring.  If  the  ground 
beneath  were  of  limestone  formation  I  think  I  could  explain 
it ;  but  as  it  is  clay  for  thirty  feet,  and  an  impervious  layer  of 
slate  at  last,  I  simply  retire  from  the  field  of  discussion. 

Another  mark  almost  equally  baffling  is  the  shallow  pit,  or 
wallow,  which  is  not  unfrequently  found  in  Dakota.  These 
pits  are  quite  unlike  the  hog-wallows  or  buffalo-wallows  of 
Iowa  and  Minnesota.  They  are  on  the  upland,  have  abrupt 
perpendicular  sides,  and  look  precisely  as  if  the  soil  had  been 
lifted  out  bodily  a  foot  or  two  deep,  leaving  the  clay  subsoil 
exposed.  The  bottom  is  generally  covered  with  gravel. 

There  are  many  theories  as  to  the  cause  of  these.  It  has 
been  claimed  that  the  cavities  were  burned  out  during  great 
drought,  and  also  that  they  were  worked  out  by  the  buffaloes 
pawing  the  dust.  Others  see  in  them  the  work  of  the  wind  as 
well.  My  opinion  is  that  the  buffalo  and  the  wind  together 
did  the  work. 

These  are  a  few  of  the  signs  which  the  observant  eye  of  the 
traveller  will  see  as  he  rides  or  walks  across  these  strange 
stretches  of  short,  crisp  grass.  As  I  rode  toward  the  hills, 
entering  through  narrow  defiles  into  valleys  holding  alkaline 
lakes  surrounded  by  deep  grasses,  it  required  little  effort  to 
imagine  savage  men  signalling  from  peak  to  peak  of  those 
bare  and  stony  hills. 

I  could  imagine  a  gigantic  sentinel  buffalo  standing  like 
a  figure  of  granite  outlined  against  the  sky,  watching  the 
surrounding  valleys  for  his  foes,  the  red  men,  and  roaring  a 
sudden  warning  upon  his  herds  as  he  thundered  down  among 
them.  It  was  so  silent  and  so  lone,  and  the  landscape  was  so 
peculiar,  that  I  had  gone  beyond  the  reach  of  anything  I  had 
ever  known  or  loved.  I  shall  never  be  able  to  forget  that 
scene,  as  we  lay  in  the  shade  of  our  wagon  and  lookej^  at  the. 


202  PRAIRIE   SIGNS. 

hills,  the  faint,  delusive  gleam  of  the  distant  lakes,  and  saw 
the  cranes  rise  out  of  the  grasses. 

Those  hills !  Prodigious  mounds  of  clay  and  loose 
boulders,  each  slope  white  with  stones  looking  like  a  flock  of 
sheep  rushing  toward  the  valleys.  Those  lakes  —  stagnant, 
poisonous,  silent ;  no  life  there,  no  paddling  duck,  no 
swinging  blackbird.  Foam-edged,  soapy,  yet  clear  and 
crystalline  ;  lakes  toward  which,  on  countless  sultry  days, 
the  buffalo  had  rushed,  mad  with  thirst,  and  drank  and  died ; 
lakes  that  burst  on  the  hunter's  famished  eyes  like  the  gleam 
of  silver,  only  to  burn  his  parched  throat  like  lye.  Grasses 
thick,  yellow  mixed  with  green,  old  with  new, —  so  thick  that 
the  antelope  were  lost  in  it, —  shelter  for  the  cold  fox  and  wolf 
in  winter,  into  which  the  antelope  cowered  when  the  north 
wind  swept  over  the  hills. 

Once  again,  as  I  write,  the  wild  geese  pass  by  overhead, 
the  shadows  of  clouds  slide  down  the  hills,  the  hawks  scream 
in  their  sport,  the  wolf  looks  down  at  me  from  a  distant  swell, 
and  out  of  the  unknown  west  the  wind  drives  the  white  puffs 
of  cloud. 

HAMLIN  GARLAND. 


Pioneer  Life  in  Dakota. 

The  pioneers  upon  the  wind-swept  prairies  of  Dakota, 
where  winter  almost  merges  into  summer  and.  a  frost  in 
August  is  quite  common,  exercise  much  thought  and 
ingenuity  devising  ways  and  means  for  the  protection  of 
their  homes,  stock,  crops  and  their  own  lives. 

The  settler  often  lands  upon  the  prairie  in  the  spring, 
with  a  few  possessions  which  he  guards  with  care  while 
camping  with  his  family  in  a  covered  wagon  or  a  tent  until  a 
dugout,  shack  or  log  house  is  completed. 

The  dugout  seems  to  be  the  favorite  dwelling  for  new 
settlers.  It  costs  but  little  save  the  work  of  excavating  in  the 
side  of  a  ravine,  and  is  secure  against  a  cyclone,  sand-storm 
or  the  dreadful  blizzard  that  so  often  rages  on  the  northern 
plains. 

The  climate  of  Dakota  is  so  dry  that  moisture  never 
gathers  in  the  dugout,  and  the  earth  walls  soon  become  so 
hard  that  plaster  will  adhere  to  them  and  they  will  never 
crumble. 

Frequently  a  schoolhouse  is  provided  with  a  dugout,  into 
which  the  teacher  and  her  pupils  flee  for  safety  during  a 
wind-storm  of  such  violence  that  they  dare  not  risk  remaining 
in  the  schoolhouse. 

If  the  settler  has  success  in  farming  or  in  raising  stock,  he 
builds  a  house  of  some  kind  near  his  dugout,  which  remains 
a  place  of  shelter  in  emergencies  like  those  described. 

Sometimes  he  sets  a  frame  house  on  his  dugout,  connects 
it  with  the  dwelling  by  a  staircase  in  the  rear,  and  has  a 
quaint,  two-storied  dwelling  for  all  sorts  of  weather.  In 
summer  he  may  occupy  the  breezy  upper  part ;  in  winter,  live 
below,  and  thus  defy  the  howling  blast. 

Next  to  dugouts  for  security  and  warmth  are  log  houses. 
These  are  numerous  in  Dakota.  When  cared  for  by  a  thrifty 


V, 


PIONEER   UFE   IN   DAKOTA.  205 

housewife,  the  interior  of  a  settler's  log  house  is  by  no  means 
uninviting.  The  walls  are  often  lined  with  muslin  and 
adorned  with  pictures  that  suggest  a  cheering  thought,  even 
though  they  may  lack  artistic  merit. 

If  there  is  no  carpet  on  the  living-room,  fur  rugs  usually 
protect  the  feet  if  there  are  large  boys  in  the  family.  For 
where  is  the  pioneer  boy  of  the  Northwest  who  has  not  rid 
the  country  of  some  prowling  coyotes,  and  perhaps  one  or 
two  gray  wolves  ?  Now  and  then  a  cow-skin,  from  a  long- 
haired three-year-old,  is  thrown  across  a^  wooden  settle  or  a 
straight-backed  chair,  to  keep  a  chill  from  creeping  up  the 
spine. 

If  the  owner  of  a  log  house  is  ambitious  for  a  frame  house 
for  appearance's  sake,  yet  wishes  to  retain  the  warmth  and 
comfort  of  the  former  dwelling,  he  is  apt  to  weather-board  the 
logs,  and  seal  or  plaster  the  inside,  and  thus  his  object  is 
accomplished  without  loss  of  comfort. 

The  frame  houses  of  the  Northwest  are  more  securely 
built  than  those  in  warmer  climates,  having  tarred  paper 
under  the  weather-boards  and  builders'  paper  under  the  laths, 
or  ceiling-boards.  These  papers,  with  storm-windows  and  a 
storm-room  at  the  north  or  west  door,  help  to  exclude  the  wind 
and  cold.  Sometimes  a  stockade  of  split  logs,  extending  to 
the  eaves,  is  built  along  the  north  and  west  sides  of  the  house 
to  stop  the  wind. 

Those  who  live  in  shacks,  or  board  shanties,  have  the  least 
security,  and  woe  betide  them  if  they  lack  fuel  in  a  blizzard. 

For  those  who  live  a  long  way  from  the  railroad  coal  is 
almost  unattainable,  and  wood  is  very  scarce,  save  in  the 
vicinity  of  large  streams.  Hence  in  many  places  twisted  hay 
is  used  for  fuel.  To  save  the  work  of  twisting  it  by  hand, 
some  settlers  have  a  twister,  or  machine  for  preparing  the 
fuel  for  winter  use. 

Those  who  travel  on  the  prairie  in  the  winter  often  use  a 
double  box,  in  which  they  ride  in  safety,  sheltered  from  the 
wind.  This  is  made  by  bracing  tiers  of  boards  upon  a 


206  PIONKKR    IvIFK    IN    DAKOTA. 


wagon-box  until  the  sides  are  several  feet  in  height.  The 
travellers  sit  upon  a  bed  of  hay  inside  the  box,  wrapped  in 
furs  or  comforters,  and  in  this  way  brave  the  bitterest  cold. 
The  driver  guides  the  horses  with  the  lines  drawn  through  a 
space  in  front. 

If  a  blizzard  overtakes  the  traveller  thus  equipped,  he  may 
turn  the  horses  loose,  and  overturn  the  double  box  and  camp 
beneath  it  in  the  hay  and  coverings.  The  snow  will  drift 
about  the  cracks  beneath  the  double  box  and  bank  it  in.  The 


Caught  in  a  Blizzard. 

horses  will  not  wander  more  than  eighty  rods,  and  usually 
will  seek  some  hollow  near  the  camping-place  and  there 
survive  the  storm. 

Second  only  to  the  welfare  of  the  family  with  the  Northern 
settler  is  the  care  of  properly  providing  for  his  stock. 

For  immense  herds  of  cattle  nothing  can  be  done  except  to 
leave  them  free  to  seek  the  shelter  of  ravines  that  break  the 
herd  lands  here  and  there.  They  may  endure  the  cold  and 
scarcity  of  feed  and  water  until  spring,  or  may  perish  by  the 
hundreds.  For  smaller  droves  a  shelter  is  provided  in  a  line 


PIONEER   LIFE   IN   DAKOTA.  207 

of  open  sheds  facing  south  in  a  corral.  When  a  storm  is 
brewing  the  stock  is  driven  into  this  corral  by  the  active 
members  of  the  family,  sometimes  including  the  girls. 

No  slight  danger  to  the  settlers  and  their  possessions  is 
occasioned  by  the  prairie  fires,  driven  by  the  wind  across  the 
vast,  wild  tracts  of  grass-land  in  the  spring  and  fall. 

The  prudent  settler  plows  a  strip  about  his  premises, 
but  the  fire  will  sometimes  leap  this  barrier  and  spread  in 
threatening  nearness  to  the  home.  Then  all  the  family  make 
a  valiant  fight  against  it,  whipping  it  with  strips  of  carpet, 
brooms  and  woollen  cloths,  or  whatever  falls  to  hand. 

The  Russian  thistle,  or  the  Russian  cactus,  has  become 
a  pest  to  farmers  in  Dakota.  It  is  supposed  to  have  been 
introduced  into  South  Dakota  in  seed  wheat  brought  from 
Russia  by  immigrants  from  the  vicinity  of  the  Black  Sea. 
It  spread  with  startling  rapidity,  and  now  the  two  Dakotas 
and  parts  of  Minnesota,  Nebraska  and  Wisconsin  are  infested 
by  the  weed,  which  must  be  fought  with  great  persistence, 
or  it  smothers  crops  and  takes  complete  possession  of  the  land. 

The  plant  grows  rapidly  in  grain-fields  after  harvest,  and 
its  seeds  are  ripe  about  the  last  of  August.  It  is  now  so  stiff 
and  bristly  that  animals  shrink  from  passing  through  it,  and 
when  horses  must  be  used  in  such  fields  their  legs  are  often 
booted  or  wound  with  cloth  to  protect  them  from  the  irritating 
effects  of  the  thistle.  The  plant  varies  in  size  from  slender 
specimens  two  inches  in  height  to  dome-shaped  masses  six 
feet  in  diameter,  weighing  twenty-five  pounds. 

As  soon  as  the  plant  is  killed  by  the  frost  it  is  broken  loose 
from  its  decayed  root  by  the  wind  and  rolled  over  the  prairie 
for  miles,  scattering  innumerable  seeds  along  its  track. 

Sheep  are  very  fond  of  the  thistle  until  it  becomes  coarse 
and  woody.  By  pasturing  sheep  on  the  young  plant  it  may  be 
kept  down,  and  the  only  valuable  quality  the  plant  has  may 
be  utilized. 

THEODORA  R.  JENNESS. 


Cowed  by  a  Hawk. 


The   Hated   Coyote. 

It  was  sunrise  on  the  western  border  of  Nebraska,  where- 1 
had  slept  in  a  sod  house.  I  was  only  half-awake  when  a 
strange  noise  fully  aroused  me. 

Satisfied  that  it  was  not  a  nightmare,  but  an  actual  sound, 
I  hurriedly  dressed  and  went  out  to  see  what  could  make  such 
a  noise.  It  was  like  the  muffled  howls  and  barks  of  many  curs 
beneath  the  earth  at  my  feet,  with  the  yelps  of  puppies  in  the 
skies,  and  the  groans  and  sighs  of  pandemonium  all  mingled 
between. 

The  sun  was  up  and  the  morning  was  bright  and  clear,  but 
nothing  could  be  seen  far  and  wide  over  the  almost  uninter- 
rupted prairie.  My  host  soon  joined  me,  and  laughingly 
asked  me  the  cause  of  my  bewilderment. 

"  I  am  looking  for  that  pack  of  wolves." 

He  laughed  at  me  and  told  me  that  the  wolves  were 
coyotes,  that  there  were  probably  but  two  of  them,  and  that 
one  was  making  all  the  noise.  Moreover,  he  soon  proved  to 
me  that  he  was  right. 

Coyotes  are  usually  harmless,  though  they  sometimes  carry 
off  poultry,  and  once  in  a  great  while  even  a  young  pig. 
Yet  the  settlers  almost  always  try  to  impress  you  with  the 
fact  that  they  and  almost  all  other  living  creatures  hate  the 
coyote. 

One  ranchman  said  that  he  had  seen  his  steers,  one  after 
another,  chase  a  coyote  by  the  hour  around  among  the  herd. 

"  Why  do  they  do  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  they  hate  them,  everything  hates  them." 

Another  frontiersman,  seeing  his  horses  run  up  and  down 
between  the  rows  of  dry  corn-stalks  the  greater  part  of  an 
afternoon,  wondered  what  they  meant,  especially  as  the  horses 
seemed  to  be  vying  with  each  other  for  the  lead,  and  the 
leader  always  seemed  to  have  his  head  down  and  ears  laid 


210  THE   HATED   COYOTE. 

back  as  if  he  were  reaching  out  to  snap  at  something.  When 
he  drew  near  he  saw  the  horses  were  chasing  a  coyote. 

He  had  scarcely  watched  them  ten  minutes  when  a  colt 
outstripped  the  rest,  ran  ahead,  struck  the  coyote  in  the 
small  of  the  back  with  his  sharp  hoof  and  killed  him  almost 
instantly. 

"  But  why  did  your  horses  do  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  they  hate  the  coyotes  ;  everything  hates  them,  even 
the  birds  hate  them  !  " 

To  substantiate  this  last  statement  he  told  me  how  he  had 
seen  a  flock  of  crows,  with  ceaseless  cawing,  one  after  another, 
worry  a  coyote  till  he  was  well-nigh  tired  out. 

An  exhibition  of  this  hatred  at  last  came  to  my  notice. 
Driving  over  the  prairie  one  day  I  was  suddenly  startled  in 
the  midst  of  a  long  and  oppressive  stillness  by  the  scream  of  a 
hen-hawk,  one  of  the  large  kind  that  looks  like  a  smaller  copy 
of  the  American  eagle.  Having  once  owned  one  of  these 
birds  for  a  pet,  his  voice  sounded  familiar,  and  I  stopped  to 
watch  his  graceful  flight.  Not  more  than  six  hundred  yards 
ahead  he  was  sweeping  in  majestic  circles,  repeating  his 
royal  call. 

Nearly  every  time  he  completed  the  circle  he  gave  a  loud 
blast,  as  from  a  clarion,  folded  his  wings  to  his  side  and  shot 
down  out  of  vSight  among  a  little  cluster  of  hillocks  covered 
with  prairie  grass.  Thence  he  would  soar  up  again,  seemingly 
out  of  the  earth,  screaming  as  if  in  triumph. 

I  drew  in  my  horse  and  slowly  approached  to  see  upon 
what  the  bird  was  so  intent,  and  found  that  he  had  two  coyotes 
there  at  bay.  Darting  down  upon  the  one  in  advance,  he 
would  at  each  descent  open  his  folded  wings  as  if  to  alight 
on  the  coyote,  and  reach  for  him  with  his  beak  and  hooked 
talons.  But  he  never  touched  the  coyote  with  these,  though 
he  often  struck  him  powerfully  with  his  wings. 

The  coyote  attacked  would  sprawl  down  flat  in  the  grass 
and  press  his  head  close  to  the  ground,  with  his  ears  laid 
back.  The  other  one  would  sit  on  his  haunches  with  the 


THE   HATED    COYOTE.  211 

guilty  appearance  of  a  dog  awaiting  expected  punishment 
from  his  master. 

As  the  hawk  soared  again,  the  coyote  crouching  in  the 
grass  would  sit  up  on  his  haunches,  and  both  wou\d  turn  their 
eyes  upward  after  the  hawk  with  signs  of  relief. 

When  the  bird  was  farthest  away  in  his  circle  they  often 
tried  to  run  away,  but  were  always  overtaken  before  they 
could  take  half-a-dozen  steps.  Then  the  one  would  have  to 
crouch  again,  while  the  other  showed  uneasiness  for  his 
mate's  safety. 

Sometimes  the  coyotes  would  not  attempt  to  leave.  Then 
the  hawk  would  enlarge  his  circles  and  even  go  around 
several  times,  but  if  the  coyotes  showred  restlessness  or 
took  their  eyes  from  the  hawk  he  would  come  down,  first 
on  the  one  in  the  rear,  rise  a  few  feet  and  then  drop  on  the 
one  in  front.  Thus  forcing  both  to  duck  by  one  descent,  he 
rose,  shrieking  as  if  delighted  by  their  submission. 

At  last  the  coyotes  seemed  to  be  reduced  to  a  state  of 
complete  despair.  They  lay  down  and  held  their  heads  erect 
only  enough  to  enable  them  to  watch  their  enemy,  who  was 
then  better  satisfied,  and  screamed  only  when  he  was  directly 
over  them.  But  even  then,  when  I  made  a  noise  to  attract 
their  attention,  he  came  down  to  draw  their  attention  from  me 
and  to  himself  again. 

Though  the  hawk  was  for  the  most  of  the  time  about  a 
hundred  feet  in  the  air,  and  his  circles  were  often  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  in  diameter,  his  head  was  constantly  turned 
toward  the  beasts.  The  sun  was  setting.  I  had  watched 
them  for  more  than  an  hour,  and  then  I  left  them. 

But  I  asked  myself ,  Why  do  these  birds  hate  the  coyote  ? 
He  cannot  molest  the  crow  or  her  young  in  their  nest,  nor  can 
he  wage  war  against  the  hawk  in  his  lofty  aery. 

I.  N.  QUEST. 


Boy-Life   on   the   Prairie. 

Every  year  there  come  days  which  seem  especially  to  mark, 
even  in  the  city,  the  change  of  seasons  —  days  that  to  me,  at 
least,  are  full  of  strange  power.  Bvery  autumn  there  comes  a 
day  when  a  powerful  wind  roars  over  Boston,  trampling  the 
trees  and  hurrying  the  leaves  along  the  ground  like  a  flock  of 
young  partridges  —  the  herald  of  winter. 

Walking  under  the  huge  English  elms,  or  sitting  at  my 
desk  and  listening  to  the  roaring  voices  of  the  branches,  I 
forget  where  I  am.  Instantly  I  am  back  to  the  West. 

I  am  in  the  midst  of  the  wide,  level  prairie,  lying  deep 
in  a  clump  of  hazel-bushes,  holding  my  horse  by  his  rein, 
listening  to  the  hoarse  singing  of  the  wind  in  the  grass,  the 
tinkle  of  the  cow-bells  and  the  scream  of  the  blue  jay.  Around 
me  on  the  ground  are  delicious  hazelnuts,  brown  and  smooth 
as  my  own  face. 

Hawks  are  drifting  down  the  wind,  tipping  and  wheeling 
on  their  search  for  mice  and  gophers  ;  and  always  the  wind's 
voice  is  in  my  ears  and  the  gray  sky  over  my  head. 

It  seems  curious  that  each  change  of  season,  as  it  comes 
sharply  upon  me,  should  cause  me  to  live  again  those  far-off 
boyish  days,  and  enjoy  them,  too,  for  they  were  not  always 
perfectly  enjoyable  then.  The  boys  of  Iowa  now  have  little 
of  the  wild  prairie-life  left,  but  the  farm-life  is  nearly  the  same. 

As  soon  as  the  harvest  was  gathered  into  the  stack  the 
plows  were  set  at  work,  for  plowing  was  a  very  long  and  hard 
fall  task.  From  the  age  of  nine  or  ten  we  were  required  to 
drive  a  team  in  the  field,  and  very  irksome  it  became  to  us. 
Out  in  the  morning  in  the  frosty  half-light  doing  chores,  out 
in  the  field  before  sun-up,  plodding  to  and  fro  all  day  and  till 
sunset  at  night  —  no  wonder  we  looked  forward  eagerly  to 
taking  our  turn  at  herding  the  cattle. 

In  those  days  there  were  vast  open  tracts  of  prairie  on 


BOY-I.IFE   ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 


213 


which  the  cattle  and  horses  pastured,  and  the  neighbors  used 
to  combine  herds  and  keep  their  boys  watching  the  cattle. 
The  boys  took  turns  at  this  work.  Some  of  my  richest 
memories  of  the  West  are  associated  with  those  wild,  free 
rides  on  the  prairie. 

We  virtually  grew  up  on  horseback,  and  to  ride  was  as 
natural  as  to  whistle  or  to  run.     Many  are  the  wild  rides  we 


The  Wild  Rides. 


had  with  the  half -wild  colts  or  young  cattle,  and  many  were 
the  trials  of  speed  among  ourselves.  Sometimes  a  fox  or  wolf 
invited  our  attention,  and  with  whoop  and  halloo  we  dashed 
after  him  in  keen,  hot  chase. 

For  eatables  on  these  rides  we  had  berries,  plums,  wild 
grapes  and,  last  of  all,  hazelnuts.  I  am  afraid  the  city  boy 
who  reads  this  will  hardly  know  what  a  real  hazelnut  is,  for 


214  BOY-UFE   ON   THE   PRAIRIE. 

I  have  tried  many  a  time  to  get  such  nuts,  but  could  not  find 
them.  When  just  right,  they  are  a  delicious  nut,  unequalled 
in  flavor,  and  they  form  a  pleasant  reminiscence  of  boy-life. 

Oh,  such  days  !  Indian-summer  days,  when  the  warm  haze 
slept  on  the  yellow-green  grasses,  with  not  wind  enough  to 
stir  it ;  when  the  crickets  sang  in  ecstasy  and  the  hawk  sailed 
high  in  the  air ;  when  the  gophers  worked  busily  among  the 
nuts  and  the  trees  stood  as  in  a  dream  ;  days  when  the  sky 
was  bright  as  a  sword  and  the  wind  was  abroad  like  the  rush 
of  an  army  ;  when  the  grasses  tossed  and  wallowed,  and  the 
poplar  groves  grew  full  of  song  and  rustled  and  hummed  and 
roared  overhead  ;  days  when  the  ducks  began  to  thicken  as 
they  flew  from  pond  to  pond,  and  occasional  cranes  swept 
solitarily  by,  far  up  in  the  central  glow  of  the  sky. 

There  were  rainy  days,  too,  when  the  rain  struck  slantwise 
across  the  plain  where  the  cattle  fed,  tails  to  the  wind,  and  the 
colts  stood  in  the  lee  of  the  groves  dismally,  with  broad  tails 
blown  forward  and  mane  covering  their  eyes  ;  long  days  to  the 
boy,  who  sat  in  his  rubber  coat  on  his  horse  in  the  grove, 
listening  to  the  rain  spattering  lonesomely  in  the  leaves, 
feeling  the  gray  showers  which  the  impatient  branches  flung 
down  upon  him. 

On  such  days  how  cheerful  the  kitchen  fire  seemed  to  the 
wet,  cold  and  hungry  herdboy  coming  home  at  night  through 
the  darkness  and  thickening  rain,  following  the  steady  clank 
of  the  cow-bell ! 

But  sometimes,  when  the  prairies  were  dry  and  feed  short, 
the  cattle  were  watched  in  the  fields  and  the  boys  took  turns 
in  patrolling  the  edge  of  the  corn-field. 

This  was  especially  delightful,  for  the  melon-patch  was 
almost  always  in  the  corn-field  and  furnished  just  the  kind  of 
refreshment  necessary.  Great,  luscious  Mountain  Sweets, 
pink  Peerless  and  the  delicious  green-fleshed  cantaloup  lay 
there,  just  waiting  for  the  boy  with  a  knife. 

What  pictures  and  sounds  that  melon-patch  calls  up ! 
They  are  an  interminable  series.  I  can  hear  the  vast, 


BOY-LIFE   ON   THE    PRAIRIE.  215 

multitudinous  rasp  and  rustle  of  the  ripening  leaves,  turning 
straw-colored  under  the  frost  and  sun.  I  can  see  the  long 
colonnades  and  feel  the  leaves  brush  against  me  as  I  run 
swiftly  between  the  rows,  leaping  the  leaning  stalks,  dodging 
the  pumpkin-vines.  The  dry  tassels  shake  over  my  head  ;  the 
heavy  ears,  beginning  to  droop,  touch  me  on  the  shoulder  as 
I  pass  in  zigzag  flight  to  the  centre  of  the  field,  where  the 
melons  lie  in  green  and  yellow  toothsomeness  amid  the 
frost-seared  leaves. 

Boys  are  like  bees  in  some  ways.  They  extract  the  honey 
of  delight  from  most  ugly-looking  flowers  sometimes ;  and 
when  the  herdboy  sat  in  the  sun  on  the  lee  of  the  corn-field 
and  ate  his  melon  or  carved  his  jack-o'-lantern,  while  the 
wind  roared  and  the  muffled  cow-bells  told  the  cattle  were  in 
the  stubble,  he  was  happy. 

The  boy  of  the  town  or  city  would  have  died  of  loneliness  ; 
but  this  boy,  thrown  back  upon  himself  and  on  nature, 
succeeded  in  being  quite  happy  most  of  the  time,  though 
there  were  times  when  a  longing  for  company  made  even  the 
sight  of  the  distant  plowman  a  comfort. 

And  when  John  came  over  to  share  a  melon  with  the 
cowboy  an  hour  of  boyish  fun  followed,  so  delightful  that 
it  seemed  only  fifteen  minutes,  though  the  horses  knew 
they  ought  to  be  busy.  But  it  wasn't  their  business  to  say 
anything  ! 

For  the  months  of  August,  September  and  October, 
alternate  plowing,  herding  the  cattle  and  digging  potatoes 
formed  the  boys'  work,  broken  only  by  the  county  fair,  which 
was  all  pleasure,  and  by  the  threshing  season,  which  was 
mingled  joy  and  weariness. 

The  corn  was  slowly  ripening  under  the  mighty  alchemy 
of  the  frost  ;  and  usually  before  October  was  gone  the  husking 
began. 

Husking  in  the  West  is  quite  different  from  husking  in  the 
East.  The  corn  is  left  standing  in  the  fields  till  the  other 
work  is  done  —  till  the  ears  are  dry  enough  to  shell.  Then 


2l6  BOY- LIFE   ON   THK   PRAIRIE. 

the  teams,  with  huge  wagons,  drive  into  the  rows,  and  the 
men  walking  beside  the  wagon  husk  the  ears  and  throw  them 
into  the  wagon.  When  there  are  more  than  two  men  with  a 
wagon  the  wagon  passes  over  a  row.  This  is  called  the 
"down-row,"  and  is  the  boy's  row. 

The  boy  of  ten  or  twelve  is  expected  to  keep  up  the 
down-row ;  and  very  hard  work  he  finds  it  sometimes,  when 
the  cold  wind  has  numbed  his  face  and  wrists,  and  the  frost 
has  wet  his  mittens  and  chapped  his  quivering  hands. 

At  first  it  was  beautiful  work  —  on  a  fine,  clear  October 
day,  when  the  ground  was  dry,  the  sun  warm  and  the  stalks 
tall  and  straight.  But  even  then  the  fingers  soon  got  worn 
and  tender,  the  husks  chafed  the  wrists,  and  the  incessant 
action  made  the  arms  ache  with  fatigue. 

Ah !  that  interminable  row  of  stalks  —  I  shudder  at  it 
again.  But  John  is  there,  and  father  is  there  with  cheery 
words,  and  Rover  is  there  ;  poor  old  Rover,  who  bade  me 
good-by  at  the  gate,  never  to  see  me  again  !  Rover  looks 
into  my  face  with  sympathy,  which  says,  "  I  wish  I  could  help 
you." 

The  leaves  stream  in  the  wind  like  pennants  ;  the  silks 
twine  round  my  wrists  like  tresses  of  hair,  and  the  heap  of 
yellow  corn  slowly  rises  in  the  wide  box  —  and  the  darkness 
falls. 

These  are  a  few  of  the  pictures  which  pass  before  my  eyes 
as  I  hear  the  north  wind  snarl  amid  the  elms  and  twang  at  the 
electric  wnres  and  howl  weirdly  at  the  eaves  and  corners  of 
the  house.  I  have  heard  the  wind  in  the  grasses  without 
being  wet,  have  eaten  up  the  melons  again,  have  watched  the 
cattle  without  being  lonely  and  husked  corn  without  being 
tired  ;  and  I  am  half-sorry  it  is  all  a  musing,  and  that  I  am  a 
middle-aged  man  in  a  world  of  care  and  struggle  such  as  the 
boy  never  knew. 

The  boy  dreamed  the  man  would  be  happier,  and  now 
the  man  dreams  the  boy  was  happier.  Who  knows  ?  I  don't. 

HAMLIN  GARLAND. 


Ranch   Life. 


The  word  ranch  is  a  contraction  of  the  Spanish  word 
rancho,  which  means  a  hut  covered  with  branches  or  thatch 
for -herdsmen,  or  a  farming  establishment  for  the  raising  of 
horses  and  cattle. 

On  the  Plains  and  in  the  Southwest  the  word  has  come  to 
be  applied  indiscriminately  to  all  farms,  whether  the  land  be 
used  for  grazing  or  for  agricultural  purposes. 

The  word  has  a  seductive  sound.  It  suggests  beautiful 
and  picturesque  surroundings,  green  trees,  running  streams, 
and  a  life  of  freedom  and  plenty  ;  and  I  shall  not  soon  forget 
the  disappointment  with  which  I  first  looked  on  a  Colorado 
ranch. 

I  saw  a  small,  unpainted  house,  a  story  and  a  half  high ; 
a  few  outbuildings  built  of  logs  in  the  roughest  manner ;  no 
fences,  not  a  tree  in  sight,  not  a  bush  ;  chips  and  other  litter 
all  around  ;  tin  cans  lying  about  in  abundance ;  a  most 
desolate-looking  spot,  with  discomfort  and  deprivation  staring 
one  in  the  face  at  every  point. 

This  was  a  cattle-ranch.  The  proprietor  of  it  owns  several 
thousand  head  of  cattle.  He  himself  lives  in  a  good  house 
in  Colorado  Springs. 

This  is  the  most  comfortable  way  to  keep  a  ranch  :  put  a 
man,  or  men,  in  charge  of  it,  and  live  yourself  where  you 
please,  visiting  the  ranch  often  enough  to  see  that  things 
are  in  order.  But  of  course  this  method  is  possible  only  to 
persons  with  means. 

The  principal  grazing  sections  in  Colorado  are  along  the 
Platte,  the  Arkansas  and  the  Republican  Rivers,  but  the 
plains  in  all  sections  are  thus  utilized.  Some  of  the  parks 
lying  high  up  among  the  mountains  also  afford  fine  ranges. 

To  the  eye  of  a  stranger,  nothing  could  look  more 
unsuited  for  grazing  than  the  bare  brown  stretches  of  the 


218 


RANCH    UFK. 


Colorado  plains.  But  there  is  a  sweetness  and  nutrition  in 
the  low,  dried  grasses  which  is  wonderful.  No  hay  that  is 
made  can  compare  with  these  grasses  dried  where  they  stand 
and  ready  to  be  nibbled  all  winter. 

To  a  stranger  nothing  could  seem  more  improbable 
than  that  cattle  should  thrive,  running  all  winter  long 
unsheltered,  uncared  for,  in  a  country  where  the  merc.ury 
frequently  falls  at  night  to  zero,  and  below,  and  where  snow 
often  covers  the  ground  to  the  depth  of  several  inches.  But 

the  facts  show  that 
the  cattle  do  thrive 
under  these  condi- 
tions. 

They  are  very 
thin  in  the  spring, 
and  exceptionally 

severe  snow  storms 
ill  March  or  April 

will  kill  off  some 
of  the  feeblest ;  but 
at  the  end  of  the 
year  they  make, 

on  the  whole,  fair  returns,  and  there  are  many  cattlemen  in 
the  state  who  are  growing  steadily  rich. 

The  same  is  true  of  the  sheepmen,  though  this  business  is 
subject  to  greater  risks  and  fluctuations.  When  heavy 
snow-storms  come,  sheep  are  helpless ;  they  are  silly,  also, 
and  sometimes  in  a  single  flock  hundreds  will  be  stifled  to 
death  by  trampling  each  other  underfoot  in  haste  to  get  the 
food  which  has  been  thrown  down  for  them  when  they  have 
been  driven  in  after  a  long  storm. 

One  winter  in  Colorado  was  exceptionally  severe,  and 
thousands  of  sheep  perished  in  the  snow.  The  sheepmen 
took  warning,  and  put  up  sheds  on  a  large  scale. 

It  would  seem  a  simple  matter  of  humanity,  as  well  as 
policy,  to  provide  them.  Cattle  can  run  before  a  storm,  and 


Sheep  in  the  Snow. 


RANCH    LIFE.  219 

it  is  said,  will  often  run  forty  miles  to  escape  one  ;  but  the 
poor  little  sheep  are  too  clumsy  and  slow  ;  they  are  soon 
snowed  in  and  under. 

lyife  on  the  larger  and  more  remote  ranches  is  lonely  and 
monotonous  to  a  degree  which,  it  must  be  admitted,  can 
hardly  be  wholesome  for  either  mind  or  body. 

The  daily  life  of  a  herder  of  sheep,  for  instance,  seems  but 
one  shade  above  that  of  the  sheep  themselves.  He  takes  his 
flock  out  at  daybreak,  stands  or  lies  still,  watching  them  while 
they  feed,  drives  them  back  to  the  ranch  at  night,  cooks  his 
own  supper,  washes  the  dishes,  and  goes  to  bed  at  nine 
o'clock,  too  tired  to  keep  awake  longer.  This  routine  is 
varied  by  an  interval  of  very  hard  work  in  the  shearing 
season,  and  during  the  weeks  when  the  lambs  are  born  in 
the  spring. 

If  the  ranch  is  near  a  town  of  size,  he  goes,  perhaps  once 
a  week,  to  that  town  to  buy  what  he  needs;  but  the  larger 
ranches  are  all  remote  from  towns,  and  must  necessarily 
be  so,  in  order  to  secure  sufficient  range  for  large  flocks  and 
herds. 

For  a  ranch  sixty,  seventy  or  a  hundred  miles  distant  from 
its  centre  of  supplies,  purchases  must  be  made  by  wholesale 
two  or  three  times  a  year,  and  the  ranchmen  will  have  no 
intercourse  with  the  world  except  at  these  times,  and  when 
chance  travellers  pass  by  their  place.  A  primitive  and 
genuine  hospitality  is  kept  on  most  ranches  ;  all  travellers 
feel  free  to  stop  at  them,  and  by  no  means  the  least  of  the 
fatigues  of  the  ranchman's  life  is  the  preparing  meals  at  any 
time  for  as  many  as  happen  to  come. 

These  are  some  of  the  drawbacks  on  ranch  life.  On  the 
other  hand,  there  are  advantages  by  no  means  to  be  scorned  ; 
open  air,  year  in  and  year  out ;  freedom  from  all  conventional 
and  troublesome  customs  ;  independence  and  the  indefinable 
exhilaration  which  almost  all  men  find  in  a  wild  and  untram- 
melled life. 

The  cattlemen  for  a  great  part  of  the  year  have  little  to 


220 


RANCH    LIFE. 


do,  except  to  keep  their  buildings  in  order  and  attend  to  the 
few  animals  they  keep  with  them.  When  the  cattle  are  to  be 
gathered  together,  branded  and  counted,  or  driven  from  one 
range  to  another,  then  the  cattleman  rides,  day  after  day,  as 
madly  as  a  Bedouin  in  the  desert. 

There  is  probably  no  better  riding  than  can  be  seen  at  the 
summer  round-ups,  where  dozens  of  vast  herds  of  cattle  have 
been  gradually  driven  in  from  their  ranges  and  collected  in  a 
dense  mass  in  some  open  place,  for  the  owners  to  pick  out 
their  respective  cattle.  Any  cow  or  steer  found  unbranded 
then  can  be  taken  possession  of  by  any  one;  such  cattle  are 
called  Mavericks,  and  there  are  more  of  them  than  would  be 
supposed;  they  might  be  called  Ishmaelites  among  cattle. 


A  Lonely  Ranch. 

As  the  ranchman  prospers,  he  adds  building  after  building 
to  his  ranch.  You  may  read  the  history  of  many  ranches  in 
the  successive  stages  of  buildings,  from  the  roughest  of  log 
cabins,  which  was  at  first  the  dwelling  and  is  now  merely 
an  outhouse  for  tools,  implements,  etc.,  up  to  the  two-story 
wooden  house,  possibly  clapboarded,  which  was  at  first  the 
dream  and  is  now  the  home  in  which  the  ranchman's  wife 
takes  pride,  and  in  which  you  will  find  one  or  more  carpeted 
rooms,  a  rocking-chair  or  two  and  a  newspaper  or  magazine. 

I  know  one  ranch,  a  sheep-ranch,  in  which  the  record  runs 
farther  back  than  the  log  house ;  it  runs  back  to  a  dugout,  a 
sort  of  compromise  between  a  cave  and  a  huge  oblong  ant-hill, 
in  which  the  resolute  sheepman  lived,  or  rather  burrowed,  for 


RANCH    UFE.  221 

more  than  a  year,  when  he  began  his  ranch  life,  like  David, 
with  a  few  sheep  in  the  wilderness.  Now  he  is  the  owner 
of  two  ranches  and  many  thousand  .sheep. 

The  one  chief  and  greatest  objection  to  ranch  life  is  the  food. 
This  need  not  be  so  bad,  but  there  seems  an  unconquerable 
tendency  in  men  living  lonely  and  isolated  lives,  and  doing 
with  their  own  hands  all  the  work  to  be  done  in  the  house,  to 
shirk  cooking,  adopt  the  easier  methods  and  fall  into  a  dreary 
monotony  of  diet. 

The  difficulty  of  procuring  any  variety  of  fresh  meats,  also, 
is  another  trouble  which  it  is  easier  to  evade  by  a  perpetual 
recourse  to  ham  and  bacon  than  in  any  other  way. 

The  trouble  of  milking  cows  and  making  butter  is  also  very 
easily  evaded  by  going  without  both  butter  and  milk  ;  and  it 
is  no  uncommon  thing  to  find  a  ranchman  owning  many 
hundreds  of  cows  and  not  milking  one.  All  these  things  are  to 
be  taken  into  account  by  people  who  are  often  recommended 
to  go  out  on  some  ranch  and  rough  it  for  a  year. 

But  after  all  is  said  and  summed  for  and  against  ranch 
life,  there  remains  a  certain  element  in  it  which  can  be  neither 
said  nor  summed ;  and  whose  worth  each  individual  will 
reckon  at  his  own  individual  valuation,  and  cannot  safely 
estimate  for  any  other  man.  It  is  the  nearness  to  nature,  the 
remoteness  from  man,  all  of  which  goes  to  make  up  his 
outdoor  life. 

What  the  Bedouin  knows  of  the  desert  he  could  never  tell ; 
and  the  ranchman  would  probably  find  it  quite  as  hard  to  give 
reasons  for  his  love  of  ranch  life. 

HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON. 


Cowboys  of  the  Plains. 

There  is  little  of  romance  attending  the  real  life  of  the 
Western  herder.  It  is  about  as  hard  a  life  as  a  young  man 
can  undertake,  unless  he  enters  upon  it  with  his  hands 
full  of  gold  ;  even  then  it  is  no  boy's  sport,  if  he  is  really  in 
earnest. 

I  know  a  graduate  of  one  of  our  great  Eastern  colleges,  a 
young  man  of  culture  and  fortune,  who  went  to  Colorado  with 
sufficient  money  to  buy  and  stock  a  large  ranch.  He  was  wise 
enough  to  know  that  success  depended  upon  strict  attention 
to  business ;  and  out  of  a  home  of  luxury  he  stepped  into  a 
hut,  where  to-day  he  cooks  his  own  breakfast,  washes  his  own 
clothes,  sleeps  hard  and  works  hard,  all  as  cheerfully  as  if  he 
had  never  known  a  life  of  less  hardship  and  toil. 

In  summer  he  starts  off  before  sunrise,  with  a  piece  of 
jerked  beef  at  his  saddle-bow,  to  ride  all  day  among  his  cattle, 
seeing  that  they  do  not  stray  too  far  from  good  feed  and 
water ;  returning  only  at  night,  to  cook  and  eat  a  hasty 
supper,  and  throw  himself,  weary,  but  thoroughly  contented, 
on  his  hard  couch. 

Sometimes  he  does  not  come  home  at  all  for  days.  Often 
in  winter  he  rides  up  into  the  mountains,  among  the  canons  of 
which  his  cattle  find  shelter  from  the  storms,  and  sleeps  on  the 
snow,  wrapped  like  an  Eskimo,  with  just  a  breathing-hole  in 
his  blanket,  resting  comfortably,  with  the  temperature  of  the 
Colorado  night  sinking  below  zero. 

This  is  the  life  of  his  choice.  But  he  is  his  own  master, 
and  the  master  of  other  men.  There  are  other  former  college 
boys  who  are  now  cowboys,  but  only  a  small  proportion  of 
them  have  his  immense  advantages. 

He  acts  as  his  own  foreman,  thereby  saving  a  great 
expense.  Foremen  on  large  ranches  command  high  wages, 
often  a  share  in  the  increase  of  the  stock,  but  it  is  only  an 


COWBOYS   OF   THE    PLAINS. 


223 


experienced,  able  and  fortunate  man  who  obtains  a  situation 
of  this  kind. 

The  ordinary  herder  works  hard  under  strict  discipline, 
obeying  orders  like  a  soldier,  for  thirty  or  forty  dollars  a 
month.  A  good  roper,  however,  gets  more.  A  roper  is  one 
who  can  throw  the  lasso  and  capture  a  steer  stronger  than 
his  horse.  It  requires  skill  and  agility  to  do  that. 


The  Cowboy  in  Winter. 

By  saving  his  wages  and  investing  them  in  cattle,  the 
cowboy  may  in  time  get  a  small  herd  of  his  own,  which  will 
rapidly  grow  to  be  a  large  herd.  Many  prosperous  ranchmen 
have  begun  business  in  this  way. 

But  the  majority  of  cowboys  remain  cowboys  until  they 
wear  out,  or  weary  of  the  work  and  turn  to  something  else. 
The  hard  life  they  lead  induces  reckless  habits,  and  drink  is 


224  COWBOYS   OF   THE   PLAINS. 

the  curse  of  many  a  generous  fellow,  who  without  it  could  not 
fail  to  become  an  honorable  and  useful  citizen. 

The  traveller  notices  a  great  difference  among  cowboys,  in 
different  sections  of  the  country,  in  respect  to  sobriety.  Here, 
as  a  class,  they  are  steady  and  industrious  ;  there,  reckless 
and  dissipated  almost  to  a  man.  It  seems  as  if  a  few  strong 
spirits  among  them  influenced  the  rest,  for  good  or  ill.  Hence 
the  danger  which  every  young  man  incurs  who  leaves  family 
and  friends  and  becomes  the  daily  associate  of  a  powerful, 
generous,  jovial,  but  too  often  unprincipled  set  of  men. 

To  a  "tenderfoot"  who  comes  among  them,  timid  and 
complaining,  afraid  of  hardships,  they  can  be  rough  enough 
in  their  fun-making.  But  a  stranger  exhibiting  quiet  qualities 
of  pluck  and  endurance  will  find  them  as  kind  and  helpful  as 
brothers. 

In  winter  the  cattle  on  open  ranges  are  mostly  left  to  take 
care  of  themselves.  They  get  together  in  immense,  straggling 
herds,  from  different  ranches,  feeding  on  sage-brush,  dry 
buffalo-grass  and  bunch-grass,  and  drifting  with  the  storms, 
protecting  one  another  by  the  mass  in  which  they  move,  until 
they  strike  the  mountain  or  some  sheltered  vale.  Travelling 
through  western  Kansas,  I  saw  the  carcasses  of  thousands  of 
cattle  lying  on  the  north  side  of  the  fences  bordering  the 
railroad  track,  where  their  drifting  had  been  intercepted  by 
the  fence,  and  they  had  perished  from  cold  and  starvation. 

It  is  the  business  of  the  cowboy  to  prevent,  if  possible, 
such  calamities.  Then  in  spring  comes  the  general  round-up. 
The  herds  of  various  owners  are  all  mingled  together ;  and 
some  have  strayed  twenty  or  thirty  or  more  miles  from  home. 
The  country  has  to  be  scoured  two  or  three  times  over,  to 
bring  in  all  the  stragglers  from  the  gulches  and  small  streams  ; 
and  weeks  are  spent  in  bringing  all  together  in  one  enormous 
bunch. 

All  the  herders  of  the  region  unite  in  the  work  of  the 
round-up.  They  travel  in  companies,  each  with  its  cook  and 
camping  apparatus,  carrying  their  canned  food  with  them, 


COWBOYS   OF   THE    PLAINS. 


225 


even  their  canned  milk,  if  they  wish  milk  for  their  coffee  ;  for 
one  thing  a  cowboy  never  does  is  to  milk  one  of  his  herd. 

If  they  wish  for  fresh  meat,  they  may,  perhaps,  shoot  an 
antelope  or  deer, where  such  wild  game  still  abides.  Otherwise, 
they  choose  a  Maverick  out  of  the  herd  for  the  butcher's  steel. 
A  Maverick  is  an  animal  that  has  no  brand  :  so-called  after  a 


The  Work  of  the  Round-Up. 

man  of  that  name  whose  herd,  it  was  noticed,  increased 
magically,  and  who  was  found  to  make  a  business  of  picking 
up  stray  cattle  that  bore  no  owner's  mark. 

If  no  Maverick  is  handy,  they  choose  any  well-conditioned 
steer,  kill  and  eat  it,  crediting  it  to  the  owner  whose  brand  it 
bears. 

The  round-up  has  reached  its  most  important  stage  when 
all  the  cattle  of  that  part  of  the  country  have  been  bunched. 
Then  comes  the  work  of  cutting  out.  The  most  skilled  of  the 
cowboys  ride  in  among  the  frightened  and  bellowing  herd  and 


226  COWBOYS   OF   THE    PLAINS. 

separate  the  different  brands,  cutting  out  with  wonderful  dash 
and  rapidity  the  cattle  of  each  owner. 

The  movement,  the  yelling,  the  bellowing,  the  rush  of 
rider  and  horse,  the  flying  rope,  the  running  out  of  the 
selected  animals, —  all  this  gives  great  animation  to  the  scene. 

Occasionally,  in  the  round-up,  neither  the  brand  nor  the 
earmarks  of  a  beast  can  be  readily  made  out.  In  that  case 
the  rope  is  used,  the  creature  thrown,  and  its  sides  washed,  to 
bring  out  traces  of  the  hot  iron,  which,  once  burnt  into  the 
flesh,  are  never  wholly  effaced. 

The  laws  concerning  the  brands  of  cattle  and  sheep  are 
very  strict.  In  Denver  there  is  an  official  register  of  all  the 
legal  brands  in  the  state.  No  man  is  allowed  to  imitate 
another  man's  brand  ;  and  he  must  have  his  own  duly 
registered.  If  he  buys  an  animal,  he  at  once  adds  his  own 
brand  to  that  of  its  former  owner. 

Cowboys  become  very  skilful  riders,  and  they  are 
sometimes  fond  of  showing  off.  In  southern  Colorado  I 
witnessed  some  performances  which  were  as  good  as  any 
equestrian  feats  I  ever  saw.  A  cowboy  rode  through  the 
streets  of  a  small  town  at  full  gallop,  picking  up  whatever 
was  thrown  in  the  way  before  him, —  a  hat,  a  whip,  a 
handkerchief.  This  he  did  by  stooping  from  his  saddle, 
putting  down  one  hand  to  the  ground,  while  he  held  on  by 
the  other  and  by  his  feet,  and  springing  up  into  his  place 
again  without  even  slackening  speed. 

Then  he  galloped  through  the  streets,  lassoing  dogs, 
cattle,  and  even  his  friends.  I  noticed  that  the  rope  was 
gathered  in  a  coil,  with  a  noose  at  the  end  about  six  feet  long  ; 
this  was  swung  around  the  rider's  head  several  times,  and 
finally  projected  twenty  or  thirty  feet,  with  surprising 
accuracy,  at  the  object  to  be  captured.  A  dog  usually 
slipped  his  head  out  of  the  loop  as  it  tightened,  and  ran  away 
yelping  ;  but  a  horned  creature  had  to  wait  until  released. 

But  the  most  exciting  fun  was  when  two  cowboys,  in 
picturesque  hats  and  fantastically  fringed  leather  leggings, 


COWBOYS   OF   THE   PlyAINS.  227 

mounted  on  the  briskest  of  ponies,  attempted  lassoing  each 
other.  As  one  flung  his  rope,  the  other  would  dodge  it  by 
dropping  down  on  his  horse's  neck,  or  leaning  over  the  side 
of  his  saddle  ;  then  he  would  spring  up  and  fling  his  rope  in 
turn. 

Once  both  were  noosed ;  then  it  was  diverting  to  see  the 
trained  horses  pull  and  back  and  brace  themselves,  and  the 
men  haul  at  the  ropes,  each  trying  to  free  himself  and  at 
the  same  time  to  drag  down  his  antagonist.  The  horses 
seemed  to  understand  the  friendly  game,  and  to  enjoy  it  as 
well  as  the  men,  though  they  themselves  sometimes  got  lassoed 
over  the  neck  or  about  the  legs. 

I  most  earnestly  advise  every  youth  who  is  ambitious  of 
being  a  ranchman  or  a  cowboy  to  learn  something  of  the  trials 
and  hardships  he  will  have  to  undergo  before  attempting  that 
new  life  ;  then,  if  resolved  to  undertake  it,  to  set  out  fully 
prepared  to  encounter,  with  Spartan  sobriety,  hot  suns,  cold 
nights,  and  the  hardest  of  hard  fare  and  hard  work.  Unless 
his  health  is  of  the  soundest,  let  him  not  risk  it  in  the  saddle 
and  bivouac  of  the  Colorado  cowboy's  life. 

If  he  has  money,  and  wishes  to  go  into  the  business  of 
cattle-raising,  let  him  first  learn  that  business  on  a  well-ordered 
ranch.  After  a  few  months  he  may  be  able  to  decide  whether 
it  will  suit  him,  or  whether  he  can  safely  invest  his  life  and 
capital  in  it. 

J.  T.  TROWBRIDGE. 


The   Great   Cattle-Trails. 

When  the  government  opened  the  Indian  Territory  lands 
to  settlement  it  ended  a  unique  feature  of  the  prairies,  the 
cattle-trails.  These  broad,  hard-floored  paths,  two  or  three 
hundred  yards  wide,  reaching  away  over  valley  and  hill  for 
five  hundred  miles,  were  the  thoroughfares  leading  up  from 
the  vast  feeding-grounds  of  Texas  and  New  Mexico  to  the 
shipping  stations  of  the  North.  The  cattle  that  followed  these 
irregular  roads  were  worth  millions  of  dollars. 

From  the  start  under  Texas  skies  until  the  freight-train 
carried  the  last  of  the  herd  from  the  Kansas  or  Nebraska 
station,  the  herders  lived  in  almost  continuous  excitement  and 
severe  labor.  But  the  task  was  one  that  hundreds  of  energetic 
young  men  enjoyed,  for  the  cowboy  was  a  power  when  on  the 
trail.  Moreover,  his  position  was  often  the  starting-point 
toward  the  wealth  and  dignity  of  a  cattle-owner,  with  a  ranch 
and  herds  of  his  own. 

The  first  trail  across  the  Indian  Territory  was  opened  in 
1867  by  Joseph  G.  McCoy  of  Illinois,  then  scarcely  more  than 
a  boy,  after  he  had  heard  some  stockmen  talking  of  the 
peculiar  condition  of  the  cattle  industry.  The  herds  of  Texas 
were  increasing  rapidly,  but  there  was  no  way  to  get  them  to 
market. 

Young  McCoy  went  out  on  the  railroad  then  partly  built 
across  Kansas,  and  after  a  long  interview  with  the  manager 
persuaded  him  to  construct  stock-yards  at  Abilene,  the 
extreme  western  limit  of  the  completed  track.  The  manager 
had  little  faith  in  the  project,  but  decided  to  give  the 
enthusiastic  visitor  a  chance. 

McCoy  sent  out  messengers,  who  rode  toward  Texas, 
seeking  the  cattlemen.  For  some  weeks  they  journeyed 
through  the  Indian  Territory,  and  were  usually  laughed  at 
when  they  proposed  driving  cattle  to  the  new  shipping-point. 


THE   GREAT   CATTLE-TRAILS. 


229 


Nevertheless,  one  herd  of  twenty-five  hundred  head  was  turned 
northward,  and  the  owners  made  such  handsome  profits  that 
the  business  grew  rapidly. 

Thirty-seven  thousand  head  were  shipped  that  season  and 
nearly  eighty  thousand  in  1868.  Thenceforth  the  business 
steadily  increased  and  became  permanent.  The  trails  were 


Herds  on  the  Trail. 


soon  well-defined,  and  could  be  seen  for  miles,  brown  and 
dusty  furrows,  washed  by  the  rains,  flanked  by  drifted 
sand-banks,  and  sprinkled  with  skeletons  of  animals  that  had 
died  on  the  road. 

Individual  ranch-owners  sometimes  broke  their  own  paths, 
but  nine-tenths  of  the  north-bound  cattle  were  driven  over  the 
established  courses.  During  the  height  of  the  season  the 
herds  were  so  close  together  as  to  be  with  difficulty  kept  from 


230  THE   GREAT   CATTLE-TRAILS. 

mingling.  Five  and  even  seven  or  eight  thousand  cattle  were 
driven  in  a  body.  The  narrow  column,  strung  out  for  two 
miles  or  more,  with  its  broad-hatted  guards  riding  at  intervals 
alongside,  had  much  the  appearance  of  an  army  on  the  march. 

A  peculiarity  of  cattle  on  the  trail  is  that  they  arrange 
themselves  instinctively  in  regular  order.  Once  well  under 
way,  certain  broad-breasted  ones  will  be  found  always  in  the 
lead.  Others  will  cause  much  annoyance  by  wandering  from 
the  line  in  search  of  novel  experiences,  while  the  weak  drift 
steadily  to  the  rear  and  are  finally  deserted,  as  prey  for  the 
skulking  coyotes. 

Not  more  than  ten  to  fifteen  miles  a  day  were  made  by  the 
herds,  and  many  weeks  were  spent  on  the  march.  The  cattle 
were  guarded  night  and  day  by  the  herders  in  relays.  A 
camp-wagon  with  cooking-utensils  and  sleeping  arrangements 
followed  the  moving  procession,  and  was  the  temporary  home 
of  the  guards. 

Added  to  his  liability  to  attack  when  separated  from  his 
pony,  the  cowboy  had  to  contend  with  the  danger  of  stampede. 
To  control  five  thousand  fleet  Texas  cattle,  having  long, 
sharp-pointed  horns,  is  no  simple  task,  for  at  the  crackling  of 
a  stick  or  the  howl  of  a  wolf  every  head  may  be  raised,  and 
the  hairy  mass  run  off  in  a  blind  panic.  It  is  impossible  to 
stop  the  herd  by  riding  in  front  of  it. 

The  common  method  of  bringing  the  mad  creatures  to  their 
senses  was  by  riding  on  one  side  of  the  leaders,  and  gradually 
turning  them  until  the  herd  was  running  in  a  circle.  Then, 
however,  another  danger  arose,  that  of  "milling."  This 
turning  like  a  millstone  wore  out  the  less  muscular  animals, 
and  it  was  necessary  to  stop  it  as  soon  as  possible. 

Sitting  quietly  on  their  horses,  the  cowboys  would  join  in 
some  old-fashioned  hymn,  singing  lustily  the  pious  words 
familiar  in  boyhood.  One  by  one  the  whirling  cattle  would 
halt  and  listen,  until  soon  the  whole  herd  was  quiet  once  more. 

A  soothing  influence  was  attributed  to  any  musical  sound, 
and  the  herders  had  a  custom  of  attaching  a  heavy  bell  to  the 


THE    GREAT   CATTLE-TRAILS.  231 

stirrup  or  saddle-horn,  believing  that  the  steady  ringing  made 
the  cattle  more  tractable. 

Frequently  half  a  herd  would  be  lost  by  a  night  stampede, 
the  cattle  rushing  pell-mell  off  a  bluff  or  into  a  morass.  There 
was  a  feeling  of  relief  on  the  part  of  both  owners  and  cowboys 
when,  after  an  outbreak  of  this  kind,  the  great  herd  were 
peacefully  grazing  as  before. 

Sometimes  a  herd  of  buffalo  would  cross  the  trail  in  a  wild 
rush  from  some  foe,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  the  cattle 
could  be  kept  from  following  their  bovine  cousins. 

Indian  attacks  were  always  to  be  feared.  Again,  the 
exposure  which  came  from  all-night  rides  in  the  saddle 
through  drenching  storms  was  trying  to  the  health.  The 
rivers  were  broad  and  sometimes  deep.  Crossing  them 
entailed  no  little  risk. 

Arrived  at  the  shipping  station  at  the  northern  end  of  the 
trail,  the  cowboy  prepared  for  a  period  of  enjoyment.  After 
loading  the  unruly  steers  he  was  paid  off  for  the  year,  and 
with  his  pockets  filled  with  money  he  too  often  indulged  in 
a  week  of  dissipation. 

In  1869  and  1870  half  a  million  head  of  cattle  were  shipped 
from  Abilene,  and  the  next  year  a  full  million  were  driven 
over  the  trails.  Other  stations  were  now  shipping,  but  most 
of  the  herds  headed  toward  Abilene.  For  twenty  miles  in 
every  direction  they  were  pasturing  on  the  plains  through  the 
late  summer  and  fall.  Never  before  or  since  in  the  West  have 
so  many  cattle  been  massed  in  so  small  a  territory. 

It  was  an  unfortunate  season  for  the  dealers.  Spanish 
fever  broke  out  among  the  herds,  and  the  Eastern  markets 
would  not  allow  the  Texas  cattle  to  enter.  Three  hundred 
thousand  head  remained  on  ;the  prairies  of  central  Kansas 
when  fall  came. 

Early  in  the  winter,  about  the  first  of  December,  a  three 
days'  storm  of  sleet,  which  froze  as  it  fell,  covered  the  buffalo- 
grass  with  ice.  The  cattle  died  of  starvation  by  the  thousand, 
and  their  carcasses  were  skinned  and  left  on  the  plain. 


232  THE   GREAT   CATTLE-TRAILS. 

From  one  station  fifty  thousand  hides  were  shipped,  from 
another  twenty  thousand,  and  from  Abilene  thirty  thousand. 
Hundreds  of  horses  and  a  score  of  cowboys  perished,  and 
that  winter  is  yet  remembered  as  the  most  terrible  in  Kansas 
history. 

After  that  there  was  no  more  boom  in  cattle-drives,  but 
year  after  year  from  one  to  two  hundred  thousand  head  came 
leisurely  over  the  trails,  finding  ready  market.  Even  after 
the  railroad  had  made  its  way  through  the  Indian  Territory 
the  cattlemen  kept  the  trails  well  worn,  because  they  could, 
by  driving  overland,  escape  the  semi-tropical  heat  of  the  South 
and  save  considerable  expense  in  freight. 

The  cattle  business  is  greater  in  the  West  to-day  than  ever. 
There  are  a  hundred  head  where  there  was  one  during  the 
palmy  cattle- trail  days,  but  they  are  scattered  over  the  settlers' 
farms  and  the  fenced  ranches,  instead  of  roaming  the  prairies. 

In  the  Northwest,  in  Wyoming,  Montana  and  Idaho,  are 
great  ranches,  with  their  cowboys  and  round-ups  and 
brandings.  Trails  lead  from  park  to  park,  and  along  the 
foot-hills  of  the  Rockies  make  highways  for  transferring 
cattle  from  the  ranches  of  New  Mexico  to  the  northern 
feeding-grounds,  where,  after  having  spent  the  summer 
moving  slowly  over  the  prairie,  they  are  fattened  on  the  corn 
of  Nebraska  and  Dakota.  These  paths,  however,  resemble 
little  in  size  or  use  the  original  trails  of  the  middle  West. 

Where  the  herds  once  crossed  the  Indian  Territory,  the 
settlers  are  planting  corn  and  sowing  wheat.  But  traces  of 
the  great  cattle-trails  will  remain  for  years  to  come.  Together 
with  the  weather-worn  buildings,  saloons  and  gambling- 
houses  in  the  old  time,  the  cattle-towns  and  the  unmarked 
graves  of  cowboys  in  the  prairie  cemeteries,  they  are  the 
visible  tokens  of  a  passing  era  and  its  attendant  life. 

C.  M.  HARGER. 


The  Language  of  Cattle-Brands. 

The  language  of  cattle-brands  is  very  perplexing  to  a  man 
who  has  never  before  met  it.  It  is  written  on  the  hides  of 
living  cattle  with  a  hot  iron  for  a  pen.  A  man  may  never 
have  to  learn  to  write  it,  but  he  may  have  trouble  enough  in 
reading  it  after  it  is  written. 

At  present  a  large  part  of  the  branding  is  done  with  what 
are  known  as  dotting-irons.  There  are  two  of  these  ;  one  a 
straight  iron  bar  and  one  a  half-circle.  With  these  two  irons 
nearly  any  brand  imaginable  can  be  made,  but  necessarily 
only  in  a  somewhat  imperfect  manner.  When  we  consider  the 
material  and  the  instruments  used  in  the  writing,  we  cease  to 
wonder  that  the  writing  itself  is  hard  to  read. 

Suppose,  for  instance,  that  you  were  on  your  pony  galloping 
across  the  prairie,  and  that  about  a  hundred  yards  or  more 

to  the  right  you  should  see  a  steer  with  what  look    -y   

like  scars  on  its  left  hip,  something  like  these  marks  :    ~T 
How  would  you  tell  what  kind  of  a  brand  you  had  noticed  ? 
An  algebra  student  might  possibly  call  it  minus  or  plus  T,  but 
the  ranch  foreman  would   only  stare  and  wonder  what  that 
meant.     He  himself  would  probably  say  something  like  this  : 

"Say,  pardner,  I  noticed  one  of  them  barcrossty  steers 
back  in  that  bunch  yonder." 

Probably  the  reader  may  not  remember  ever  having  heard 
the  word  barcrossty  before ;  Noah  Webster  was  equally 
ignorant  when  he  compiled  his  dictionary.  There  are  many 
other  words  used  on  the  stock-trail  that  he  never  heard  of. 
However,  it  is  written  on  the  hips  of  thousands  of  cattle  on  the 
plains  as  clear  as  can  be.  Look  at  the  brand  again :  bar-cross-T. 
How  could  it  be  made  any  plainer  ? 

Suppose,  again,  that  a  muscular-looking  man  with  two 
six-shooters  in  his  belt  should  bring  his  wiry  little  bronco  to 
a  halt  and  address  you  thus  : 


234         THE  LANGUAGE  OF  CATTLE- BRANDS. 

"Hold  on  there  a  minute,  pard.  Have  you  seen  any  of 
them  nail-shoe-nail  steers  over  on  your  part  of  the  range?" 

Would  you  know  how  to  answer  him  ?     Probably        _ 
not,  for  the  brand  which  he  refers  to  is  made  like  this  :  - 
That  half-circle  in  the  centre  is  supposed  by  courtesy  to  be 
a  horseshoe,  while  the  two  straight  lines  sticking  out  at  each 
end  are  nails.     So  you  can  clearly  see  the  nail-shoe-nail. 

Now  the  reader  has  got  this  much  of  a  start  at       ^ 
learning  the  language,  let  him  try  to  read  this  brand  : 
It  is  the  shoe-bar  brand,  and  is  used  by  one  of  the  wealth- 
iest stockmen  in  Texas.     It  is  quite  easy  to  read,  after  you 
know  how  to  read   it.     You  will  have  little   or     -=rp—      ^^ 
no  difficulty  in  reading  two  more  simple  brands  :     — ^--^ 
Cattle  that  wear  the  first  sign  are  known  as  the  anvil  stock  ; 
those  bearing  the  second  mark  are  the  circle-bars  cattle. 

\Here  is  still  another  brand  that  may  possibly  be 
harder  for  you  to  read.  It  is  the  brand  of  a  wealthy 
stock-owner  whose  name  is  Mr.  Drake.  It  is  supposed  to  be 
the  picture  of  a  drake,  or  duck.  It  is  merely  a  matter  of 
justice,  though,  to  remark  that  the  likeness  is  a  gross  libel  on 
Texas  ducks.  It  does  not  look  like  them  at  all. 

Here  is  another  brand,  in  which  the  likeness  is  not 
much  better.  This  is  the  turtle  brand,  and  it  takes 
two  impressions  of  the  half-circle  and  six  of  the  straight  bar  to 
make  it.  Two  of  these  latter  are  for  the  head  and  tail ;  the 
other  four  are  for  the  legs. 

Of  course  many  of  the  brands  in  use  consist  of  letters 
and  figures,  but  these  have  been  used  so  often  that  a  new 
combination  is  difficult  to  find.  Moreover,  most  letters  can  be 
added  to  or  changed  until  the  original  brand  is  lost  sight  of. 
Changing  brands  was  formerly  one  of  the  most  frequently 
practised  methods  of  cattle-stealing. 

The  story  is  told  of  a  man  named  Charles  Upton  who 
came  to  Texas  shortly  after  the  war,  and  took  for  his  brand 
C  U.  A  dishonest  neighbor  settled  near  him  and  took  for 
his  brand  I  C  U.  Thus  by  merely  one  stroke  of  his  iron  he 


THE   LANGUAGE   OF   CATTLE-BRANDS.  235 

got  his  brand  on  many  of  his  neighbor's  cattle.  The  first  man 
then  changed  his  brand  to  I  C  U  2.  "I  see  you,  too."  By 
using  the  additional  characters  he  got  back  all  his  original 
cattle  with  good  interest. 

A  few  years  ago  a  thrilling  story  was  told  in  The  Youth's 
Companion  of  the  recovery  of  a  large  herd  from  cattle-thieves 
who  adroitly  changed  a  brand  of  two  letters.  The  owner, 
Joseph  Villemont,  marked  his  cattle  with  his  initials,  " 
which,  by  the  skilful  addition  of  only  three  straight 
lines,  the  clever  stock-thieves  changed  to  this  brand 
and  at  the  round-up  claimed  all  the  bar-Y-N  stock.  Their 
dishonesty  was  discovered  by  an  acute  cowboy,  who  recognized 
in  their  herd  a  j-v  steer  with  which  he  had  had  a  tussle  some 
time  before. 

It  is  to  prevent  such  dishonest  practices  that  some  of  the 
brands  have  been  brought  into  use  which  I  have  described. 
They  may  seem  unnecessarily  complicated,  but  they  show  the 
owners'  determination  to  secure  a  mark  that  cannot  be  easily 
disfigured,  and  that  shall  prove  entirely  distinct  from  all 
previously  registered  brands. 

P.  W.  HORN. 


Breaking  a  Bronco. 

Anna's  first  view  of  the  performance  called  breaking  a 
bronco  was  from  a  corral  fence.  She  sat  out  of  harm's  way, 
on  the  farther  side  of  the  cattle-shoot,  a  little  enclosure  leading 
into  the  corral. 

The  two  young  men,  or  boys,  looked  quite  picturesque. 
They  wore  stiff,  seatless,  leather  trousers  with  fringed  seams, 
for  protection  against  barbed  wire,  sharp  stones  and  the  like. 
The  usual  far-western  gear,  flannel  shirts,  sombreros  and 
buckskin  gloves,  completed  their  dress. 

On  this  occasion  John  took  a  well-broken  horse  named 
Stub,  collected,  or  rounded  up,  a  bunch  of  eight  animals,  and 
drove  them  into  the  corral.  It  was  amusing  to  watch  the  boys 
circumventing  these  horses  till  all  were  within  the  gate. 
Then  Stub  was  tied  without,  the  bars  put  up,  and  John  and 
Carlos  walked  into  the  corral. 

After  several  vain  attempts,  John  lassoed  a  dun  mare,  which 
they  were  especially  anxious  to  break,  passed  the  loose  end  of 
his  rope  around  the  snubbing-post  and  held  it  tight.  Carlos 
speedily  noosed  the  mare  also.  He  then  let  the  other  horses 
into  the  pasture. 

The  boys,  to  tame  the  dun,  concluded  to  choke  her  down. 
Carlos  kept  behind  her  at  a  safe  distance,  holding  his  rope 
taut,  and  gradually  drove  her  close  to  the  snubbing-post. 
John  drew  his  rope  shorter  as  fast  as  she  approached.  The 
dun,  with  both  ropes  around  her  neck,  stood  breathing  hard. 
Carlos  pulled  on  his  rope,  choking  her,  and  she  soon  lay 
down.  He  ran  and  knelt  on  her  neck. 

She  threw  up  her  head  a  few  times,  but  made  no  other 
resistance  while  he  pulled  her  jaws  open  and  proclaimed  her 
a  three-year-old. 

He  next  loosened  his  rope  on  her  neck  and  knotted  it 
securely  at  the  chest.  Then  he  caught  her  right  hind  foot  in 


BREAKING   A    BRONCO. 


237 


a  noose  and  tied  it  firmly.  In  his  hurry  he  had  made  a 
mistake  and  caught  up  the  wrong  hind  foot.  A  horse  is 
broken  from  the  left  side,  as  it  is  mounted  from  that  side. 
However,  as  the  dun  was  evidently  not  fierce,  it  was  decided 
to  let  the  rope  remain  as  it  was. 

All  this  time  John  had  been  holding  his  rope  steady  on  the 
other  side  of  the  post,  in  case  the  dun  should  try  to  get  away. 
Now  he  secured  it  and  came  round  to  help  Carlos. 

They  tied  a  blind,  or  cloth,  just  above  her  eyes.  Then 
Carlos  rose  from  the  dun's  neck  and  tried  to  scare  her  up. 
She  would  not  budge,  but  lay  and  groaned  till  Anna  thought 
she  must  be  dying.  The  boys  said  she  was  only  sulking. 

As  she  persistently  refused  to  rise,  they  used  the  blacksnake 
whip  on  her,  but  to  no  purpose.     So  John  pulled  her  head  up 
by  the  snubbing-rope  and 
Carlos    pushed    her    from 
behind.     She  gave  a  wild 
scramble,  and  stood  erect 
on  three  feet. 

While  Carlos  had  been 
on  her  neck  he  had  patted 
and  rubbed  her,  to  gentle 
her  by  degrees,  but  she  did 
not  like  it — wild  horses 
never  do. 

When  she  was  standing,  Carlos  gradually  approached  her 
to  draw  down  the  blind  above  her  eyes.  She  backed  off  as 
far  as  she  could  till  choked  by  the  noose  that  was  around  her 
neck  and  secured  to  the  snubbing-post.  Then  she  lay  down 
again. 

They  hoisted  her  up  once  more,  and  blinded  her  by  pulling 
the  cloth  down  over  her  eyes ;  then  John  threw  on  the 
saddle-blanket  and  the  saddle.  She  immediately  lay  down 
and  refused  to  move,  even  when  they  raised  the  blind.  The 
boys  took  a  brief  rest,  while  she  groaned  continuously. 

They  lifted   her  again   till   she  scrambled   up,  when   the 


A  Three-year-old. 


238 


BREAKING   A    BRONCO. 


saddle  was  quickly  cinched,  or  girthed.  As  they  finished, 
she  lay  down  again  and  began  to  groan  dolefully. 

A  bridle  was  placed  in  her  mouth,  and  the  rope  confining 
her  foot  taken  off.  She  was  allowed  to  lie  and  groan  while 
John  brought  up  a  red  colt  and  turned  him  into  the  pasture. 
When  he  returned,  the  dun  had  discovered  that  her  foot  was 
free,  and  she  was  standing. 

John  brought  Stub  to  a  convenient  spot,  removed  the 
snubbing-rope,  and  pulled  down  the  blind  over  the  dun's  eyes. 


Getting  Ready  to  Ride. 

Then  he  led  her  into  the  road  by  tugging  at  the  bridle,  while 
Carlos  went  behind  with  a  whip  and  touched  her  when  she 
balked. 

Carlos  took  the  bridle  and  sprang  into  the  saddle.  John 
pulled  up  the  blind  and  jumped  aside.  Away  went  the  dun, 
racing  across  the  prairie.  Whenever  she  came  too  near 
barbed  wire  or  other  danger,  John,  on  Stub,  headed  her  off. 

Half  an  hour's  hard  running  tired  her  out,  and  John  drove 
her  again  into  the  corral.  The  bridle  was  of  no  use  to  guide 
her  until  she  had  had  several  breakings-in,  but  it  was  useful 
in  holding  her  head  up  to  prevent  her  bucking,  or  leaping  up 


BREAKING    A   BRONCO.  239 

and  coming  down  on  her  forefeet.  To  buck  thoroughly  a 
horse  must  get  its  head  down  to  its  knees. 

As  soon  as  they  were  in  the  corral  John  dismounted  from 
Stub  and  held  the  dun's  blind  down  while  Carlos  sprang  off. 
It  took  over  two  hours  to  tire  her  out  this  time. 

There  is  as  much  difference  in  horses  as  in  human  beings, 
so  bronco-breaking  was  an  ever-novel  sight  to  Anna.  She 
learned  that  there  were  in  the  West  professional  horse- 
breakers,  who  go  about  breaking  broncos  for  from  three 
dollars  to  eight  dollars  per  animal,  riding  each  horse  from  two 
to  six  times.  It  is  a  hard  life,  and  soon  cripples  a  man. 

The  next  horse  the  boys  broke  was  named  Texas.  He 
took  the  process  very  calmly,  but  after  he  had  been  used 
several  times  he  proved  a  bucker.  For  his  first  experiment 
he  chose  a  time  when  Carlos  was  alone  and  remote  from 
assistance.  Carlos  stayed  by  him,  but  with  some  difficulty, 
as  he  was  not  expecting  such  behavior. 

Texas  was  not  choked  down,  but  after  being  snubbed  up 
was  caught  by  the  hind  leg  and  thrown.  This  is  the  method 
usually  employed  with  a  full-grown  animal. 

It  is  said  by  old  bronco-breakers  that  a  horse  is  easier  to 
conquer  if  he  bucks  at  first.  He  then  learns  thoroughly  that 
his  rider  is  his  master.  An  animal  that  bucks  after  being  in 
use  becomes,  if  he  succeeds  in  unseating  his  rider,  very  hard 
to  cure  of  this  habit.  He  is  then  known  as  a  spoilt  horse. 

HESTER  WASHBURNE. 


A   Chase   for  Wild   Horses. 

Toney  lived  on  the  plains  near  the  famous  North  Platte 
River.  One  day,  while  following  some  thievish  Indians,  he 
discovered  a  number  of  wild  horses,  and  planned  to  capture 
the  whole  herd. 

He  told  his  discovery  to  several  friends  whose  lives  were 
spent  in  the  saddle,  herding  horses  and  cattle,  and  who  owned 
tough,  wiry  broncos.  It  was  agreed  that  a  concerted  effort 
should  be  made  to  secure  the  herd  for  the  good  price  they 
would  bring  in  the  local  market. 

The  men  assembled,  as  agreed  upon,  and  with  six  or  seven 
days'  rations  for  the  party  and  forage  for  their  horses  in  a 
wagon,  they  started  for  the  Blue  Water,  which  they  reached 
in  a  day's  march.  Here  they  camped  on  the  stream  and 
gave  their  riding  horses  a  good  rest,  while  on  the  next  day 
two  men  with  the  horses  from  the  wagon  rode  up  the  valley 
to  locate  the  herd.  Although  the  horses  did  not  appear,  their 
fresh  tracks  were  seen,  and  the  two  men  returned  to  camp 
to  report  the  fact. 

Before  the  sun  had  set  that  day,  four  of  the  horsemen, 
with  their  blankets  tied  behind  their  saddles,  left  camp  and 
ascended  the  valley  to  the  place  in  the  creek  bottom 
where  the  tracks  of  the  wild  horses  that  came  to  drink  in  the 
morning  and  cool  of  the  evening  were  thickest.  Posting  one 
man  in  sight  of  the  drinking-pool,  the  others  took  positions 
down  the  stream  about  a  mile  apart,  in  such  locations  that 
the  horses  could  not  drink  without  being  seen. 

Their  purpose  was  to  keep  the  wild  horses  from  getting  a 
drink  that  evening  or  next  morning,  so  that  on  the  morrow's 
run  they  would  be  at  a  great  disadvantage,  compared  with 
their  own  fresh  horses. 

One  of  the  men  saw  them  trooping  down  as  dusk  was 
coming  on:  He  let  them  get  very  near  the  water,  then 


A   CHASE   FOR    WILD    HORSES. 


241 


frightened  them  back  ;  not  violently,  but  just  enough  to  make 
them  take  to  the  hills.  In  about  a  half-hour  they  came 
cautiously  back,  stopping  every  minute  or  two,  with  ears 
pricked  forward,  to  survey  the  scene,  especially  where  the 
horsemen  had  appeared. 


The  Wild  Horses. 


Again  he  allowed  them  to  approach  near  to  the  water, 
when  he  slowly  rode  toward  them,  and  they  trotted  rapidly 
away  as  before. 

Soon  darkness  set  in,  and  as  these  animals  never  travel  at 
night  it  was  fair  to  presume  that  they  had  gone  to  rest  with- 


242  A   CHASK   FOR   WILD    HORSES. 

out  their  evening  drink,  a  deprivation  to  which  they  were  not 
altogether  unaccustomed.  Having  discovered  where  the  wild 
horses  came  to  drink,  the  scattering  line  of  men  drew  together 
at  this  point,  partook  of  a  cold  supper,  picketed  their  horses 
on  the  best  patches  of  grass  near  by,  and,  spreading  their 
blankets  on  the  ground,  went  to  sleep. 

At  the  first  break  of  day  they  arose,  ate  their  breakfast 
cold,  and  with  their  horses  saddled,  waited  for  their  prey. 
They  strung  along  the  stream,  but  not  so  far  apart  as  before, 
for  when  the  wild  horses  put  in  an  appearance  again  they 
wanted  to  be  near  enough  for  concerted  action.  They  had 
not  waited  very  long  when  the  horses  came  over  the  hills  and 
down  into  the  valley,  toward  the  stream,  with  an  assured  walk, 
as  if  they  felt  certain  that  their  annoyance  of  the  evening 
before  must  have  had  ample  time  to  get  away. 

When  the  horses  were  about  to  drink,  they  were  turned 
back  toward  the  hills  and  followed  by  the  nearest  two  men 
at  a  slow  trot.  The  other  two  men  now  mounted  and  walked 
their  horses  to  the  top  of  the  nearest  high  hill  overlooking  the 
country  for  miles,  and  there  sat  down  to  wait.  The  horsemen 
following  the  herd  rode  at  a  trot  to  the  crest  of  the  hills,  where 
they  saw  them  on  a  distant  ridge,  probably  a  mile  away, 
and  turned  toward  them. 

Again  they  followed  at  a  trot,  the  intention  being  to 
allow  them  no  time  to  graze.  This  desultory  and  long  dis- 
tance chase  was  kept  up  until  the  wild  horses  had  been 
followed  some  twelve  or  fifteen  miles  to  the  northwest,  when 
the  two  horsemen,  by  making  a  wide  detour,  got  around 
them  and  started  them  back. 

Now  the  chase  was  made  much  more  energetic,  and  the 
whole  caravan  was  kept  at  a  good  swinging  gallop,  till  the 
two  horsemen  recognized  that  they  were  very  near  the  Blue 
Water  again,  when  they  pressed  the  panting  wild  horses  at  a 
fast  run,  although  they  were  not  able  to  get  closer  than  four 
or  five  hundred  yards.  ,  Lathered  with  sweat,  the  pursuers 
and  pursued  reached  the  Blue  Water,  and  as  the  latter  gained 


A   CHASE    FOR   WILD    HORSES.  243 

the  crest  the  second  set  of  men  took  up  the  chase,  giving  the 
wild  horses  hardly  time  to  breathe,  and  running  them  over  the 
same  course. 

Hardly  two  or  three  miles  had  been  made  before  it  was 
seen  that  the  wild  horses  could  be  easily  turned  to  the  right 
or  left ;  and  after  a  mile  or  so  was  added  to  this  distance  they 
were  sent  back,  and  once  more  approached  the  fated  hill,  with 
their  pursuers  not  a  hundred  yards  behind  them.  The  two 
men  on  the  hill  drew  cuts  for  the  next  run,  for  the  horses  were 
so  well  in  hand  that  a  single  horseman  on  a  rested  animal 
could  easily  control  them  and  direct  their  movements. 

This  single  rider  hardly  chased  them  a  mile  before  he 
turned  them  and  brought  them  back,  almost  as  hard  as  he 
could  press  them,  not  ten  yards  in  their  rear.  The  next 
man,  when  he  desired  to  turn  them  at  the  end  of  his  chase 
out  over  the  rolling  prairie,  simply  dashed  through  the 
exhausted  herd,  and  when  sighted  coming  back  he  was  seen 
lashing  the  rear  ones  to  keep  them  going. 

The  two  most  tired  horsemen  now  returned  to  camp, 
leaving  the  freshest  at  this  alternating  pursuit ;  and  when 
the  wild  horses,  thoroughly  tired  out  and  tamed  down,  could 
be  driven  in  any  direction  whatever,  as  if  they  were  so  many 
domesticated  cattle,  these  two  turned  them  toward  the  camp, 
keeping  them  at  a  gait  that  gave  them  no  rest. 

When  they  passed  the  camp,  the  other  horsemen  had 
exchanged  their  animals  for  fresh  ones,  and  taking  the  herd 
on  hand  they  drove  them  across  the  North  Platte  River 
so  fast  that  they  could  not  drink.  They  were  followed 
by  the  entire  camp,  wagon  and  all,  for  the  fastest  speed  the 
horses  could  possibly  maintain  now  was  only  a  good  dog-trot. 
At  the  close  of  the  day  they  had  the  satisfaction  of  driving 
the  whole  herd  into  a  cattle-corral  at  a  railroad  station,  some 
fifteen  miles  distant,  and  before  the  sun  had  set  the  next  day 
they  sold  them  to  a  wealthy  ranchman. 

MAX  OWEN. 


Ancient  Farmers  and  Sportsmen. 

L,ong  before  Columbus  claimed  this  continent  for  his 
sovereign,  thousands  of  steady,  patient,  industrious  farmers 
tilled  the  soil  and  planted  wheat  in  Texas.  They  were 
dwarfs  in  size,  but  having  six  legs,  were  capable,  perhaps,  of 
enduring  as  much  fatigue  as  larger  beings.  They  were 
dumb,  but  possessed  a  silent  language  quite  as  eloquent 
and  intelligible  to  each  other  as  any  taught  in  asylums  for 
deaf-mutes  to-day. 

The  prairies  of  southern  and  western  Texas  are  dotted  all 
over  with  little  knolls  that  look  like  bald-headed  men,  because 
their  sides  are  covered  with  herbage,  while  their  tops  are  bare. 
The  baldness  is  caused  by  ant-hills.  If  you  examine  one 
of  these  knolls  any  time  after  the  middle  of  January,  and 
sometimes  even  earlier,  you  will  find  the  summit  alive  with 
ants  who  are  farmers. 

Some  are  carrying  off  the  accumulated  debris  left  by  winter 
winds  and  rains,  some  are  turning  up  the  soft  earth  with  their 
mandibles,,  others  bringing  up  tiny  grains  from  the  granaries 
underground,  and  still  others  planting  these  grains  in  the 
earth. 

A  few  weeks  later,  if  you  should  ride  over  this  same 
prairie,  you  would  find  every  knoll  crowned  with  a  little 
circular  patch  of  tender  green.  It  is  the  young  ant- wheat. 

A  nearer  view  will  show  you  the  farmers  still  at  work, 
though  not  in  such  numbers.  They  cut  out  every  weed  as 
soon  as  it  appears,  and  drag  it  out  of  the  field,  which  is 
generally  about  three  feet  in  diameter,  forming  a  solid 
wheel,  of  which  the  entrance  to  the  ant-hill  is  the  hub,  and 
a  narrow,  beaten  path  on  the  outer  rim  the  tire.  Weeds, 
sticks,  everything  that  hinders  the  growth  of  the  crop  is 
carried  beyond  the  tire  of  the  wheel. 

But    perhaps    the    strangest    sight    of    all    will    reward 


ANCIENT    FARMERS    AND    SPORTSMEN.  245 

inspection  when  the  wheat  is  ready  for  harvest.  All  the 
available  working  force  of  the  farm  is  brought  out.  The 
wheat  is  now  from  three  to  six  inches  high,  according  to 
locality  and  fertility  of  soil. 

A  tiny  granger  selects  his  stock  and,  climbing  to  the  top, 
cuts  off  the  highest  grain  of  wheat  and  brings  it  down.  A 
second  granger  takes  it  at  the  foot  of  the  stalk  and  carries  it 
to  the  hill,  where  a  third  receives  and  takes  it  down  to  the 
barns,  which  are  underground. 

These  barns  are  oblong  cells,  with  arched  ceilings,  and 
walls  smooth  as  marble  and  perfectly  waterproof.  One  hill 
will  have  a  large  number  of  barns,  and  these  are  usually 
all  full  at  the  end  of  the  harvest.  One,  and  sometimes  two 
barnfuls  are  saved  for  seed. 

When  the  crop  is  harvested,  every  stalk  is  cut  down  and 
carried  out  of  the  field.  Sometimes  two  crops  are  raised  in  a 
year.  But  the  farmer  is  not  idle  after  harvest.  He  gathers 
leaves  for  the  winter  quarters,  having  first  brought  out  all  of 
last  year's  bedding,  and  does  a  hundred  little  chores  ;  in  fact, 
the  Texas  ant  works  pretty  much  all  the  year,  and  doesn't 
hibernate,  like  the  New  Mexico  planter. 

In  the  South  we  call  a  man  who  raises  only  grain  a  farmer, 
and  one  who  raises  sugar,  or  cotton,  or  both,  a  planter; 
therefore  I  call  my  New  Mexico  agriculturist  a  planter. 
Perhaps  he  came  to  this  continent  with  the  Texas  farmer,  and 
being  more  adventurous,  pushed  farther  west ;  or  perhaps  he 
came  the  Pacific  route,  and  fled  eastward  with  the  Indians 
from  the  Spaniard.  Anyway,  he  is  nearly  related  to  the 
Texas  ant,  although  the  latter  is  red  and  larger  than  the 
Mexican,  who  is  nearly  black. 

When  I  went  to  New  Mexico  I  thought  I  had  found  my 
old  Texas  friends  in  that  odd  and  surprising  country  ;  for  I 
saw  the  round  fields  in  every  direction.  But  a  nearer  view 
showed  me  it  was  not  ant-wheat  that  flecked  the  arid  mesa 
and  rocky  canon  with  pale  green  disks. 

Week  after  week  I  watched  these  little  plantations  up  in 


ANCIENT   FARMERS   AND   SPORTSMEN.  247 

a  canon  fifteen  hundred  feet  above  sea-level.  Instead  of 
wheat-stalks,  they  were  covered  with  a  small  spreading  plant, 
which  grew  close  to  the  ground,  one  plant  sometimes  covering 
an  area  of  four  inches,  sometimes  two  or  three,  but  never 
more  than  an  inch  and  a  half  high.  As  the  summer  wore  on, 
a  white  veil  spread  over  the  delicate  green  of  the  little  fields, 
until  they  looked  like  patches  of  snow. 

Every  day  I  watched  the  planters  for  hours.  One  August 
morning  I  saw  unusual  bustle  and  activity  in  a  plantation 
near  my  window,  and  going  to  my  usual  post  of  observation, 
a  very  large  ant-hill  on  the  side  of  the  mountain,  I  found  my 
planters  picking  cotton  !  By  this  time  the  little  plants  were 
entirely  covered  with  a  soft  white  furze,  and  hundreds  of  ants 
were  stripping  the  leaves  and  stems  of  their  fleecy  robes. 

I  have  seen  many  cotton-fields  picked  in  my  life,  but  none 
left  so  clean  as  these.  The  leaves  of  this  cotton  plant  are 
about  half  an  inch  long,  cylindrical  in  shape,  and  about  the 
thickness  of  a  pencil-lead.  One  ant  would  strip  five  or  six 
leaves  and  carry  the  cotton  in  a  loose  ball  on  his  head  down 
into  the  hole.  He  did  not  shift  his  burden,  as  the  Texas  ant 
does,  from  one  to  another.  By  what  process  he  himself 
was  picked  of  the  tiny  particles  that  clung  to  his  legs  and 
mandibles  I  do  not  know,  but  I  do  know  that  every  ant 
coming  out  of  the  nest  was  spick-and-span  clean. 

After  the  cotton  was  all  picked  the  leaves  were  cut  off  and 
carried  into  the  nests,  and  the  stalks  cut  down  and  hauled  off. 

When  my  parents  moved  to  Texas,  in  1840,  it  was  little 
better  than  a  wilderness.  Wild  animals  hardly  deserved 
that  epithet,  they  were  so  tame.  I  suppose  that  nowhere  in 
that  vast  state  could  now  be  seen  the  very  extraordinary 
performance  I  am  about  to  relate.  I  never  saw  it  before  or 
since,  but  I  certainly  saw  it  then,  and  so  vivid  is  the  picture 
in  my  memory  that  I  seem  to  see  it  now  as  I  write. 

We  were  travelling  from  Houston  to  Grimes  County, 
bowling  along  at  a  brisk  trot  over  the  smooth  prairie-road  in 
the  cool  of  the  morning.  Suddenly  the  carriage  stopped  and 


248  ANCIENT   FARMERS   AND    SPORTSMEN. 

the  driver  cried,  in  a  frightened  voice,  "  Look  at  the  cranes 
playing  ball !  " 

On  the  bare  top  of  a  knoll  on  the  right  of  us,  and  quite 
near  enough  to  be  seen  distinctly,  was  a  group  of  five  cranes 
of  the  kind  known  in  Texas  as  sand-hill  cranes.  Four  of 
them  stood  at  equal  distances  apart,  forming  a  square,  and  a 
fifth  stood  off  a  few  feet  from  the  players,  as  if  keeping  tally. 
The  four  players  were  tossing  a  ball,  high  in  the  air,  from 
corner  to  corner,  catching  it  as  it  came  down,  and  passing  it 
on  in  like  manner.  One  would  catch  it,  toss  it  up  toward  his 
right-hand  neighbor,  and  so  on. 

After  watching  them  for  about  ten  minutes,  we  found  out 
what  the  fifth  crane  was  for.  One  of  the  players  missed  a 
ball ;  it  could  not  have  reached  the  ground  before  the  fifth 
crane  caught  it,  when  the  unlucky  loser  stepped  out,  the  odd 
crane  took  his  place,  and  he  waited  in  turn  .for  a  miss  from 
some  other  player  to  get  in. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  we  sat  there  enjoying  this  novel 
game  before  father's  curiosity  to  see  what  sort  of  a  ball  they 
had,  caused  him  to  ride  up  to  the  enthusiastic  sportsmen.  He 
almost  touched  them  before  they  saw  him,  and  with  a  loud 
"  ky-ank  !  ky-ank  !  "  they  flew  away. 

The  ball  proved  to  be  a  hair  ball,  such  as  all  Texas 
cattle-raisers  know  and  dread.  They  form  in  the  stomachs  of 
cattle,  and  are  always  fatal.  Near  the  playground  was  the 
dried  carcass  of  the  animal  in  which,  no  doubt,  the  cranes 
found  their  plaything. 

AUREUA  H.  MOHI,. 


The  Water  Cactus. 

We  sometimes  read,  in  narratives  of  travel  and  adventure 
in  the  deserts  of  the  Southwest,  that  men  in  the  last 
extremities  of  thirst  have  saved  their  lives  by  obtaining 
water  from  a  species  of  cactus  called  the  Fish-Hook  Cactus, 
or  Water  Cactus. 

This  plant  when  fully  grown  bears  a  general  resemblance 
to  the  Giant  Cactus,  and  both  varieties  are  frequently  found 
growing  side  by  side.  But  the  Water  Cactus  is  readily 
distinguished  from  the  other  by  its  broad,  flat  spines  curved 
like  fish-hooks,  while  those  of  the  Giant  Cactus  are  slender 
and  tapering,  like  needles. 

Another  distinguishing  trait  is  noted  in  the  ridges  from 
which  the  spines  protrude.  On  the  Giant  Cactus  these  run 
perpendicularly  from  base  to  apex,  like  the  fluting  of  an 
Ionic  column ;  while  on  the  Water  Cactus  they  ascend  the 
shaft  in  spiral  fashion,  giving  the  plant  a  marked  corkscrew 
appearance. 

During  the  first  few  years  of  its  growth  the  Water  Cactus 
is  spherical  or  globular  in  form.  Its  subsequent  growth  is  a 
gradual  elongation  upward,  so  that  it  becomes  ovate  in  form, 
and  finally  cylindrical,  attaining  a  height,  when  full-grown, 
of  six  to  seven  feet,  with  a  diameter  rarely  exceeding  fourteen 
to  sixteen  inches.  Bancroft  Library 

To  be  able  to  find  and  recognize  the  plant  is  not  enough  ; 
one  must  know  how  to  make  it  give  up  the  life-saving  fluid  ; 
and  this  is  by  no  means  an  easy  task.  The  pulpy  interior  is 
enveloped  in  a  skin  more  impenetrable  than  the  toughest 
leather,  and  further  protected  with  an  array  of  stout,  wiry 
spines,  so  springy  that  the  largest  rock  thrown  against  them 
will  violently  rebound,  leaving  them  uninjured.  No  animal 
save  man  can  make  any  impression  on  this  porcupine  of  the 
vegetable  kingdom ;  and  even  man,  unless  provided  with 


250  THE   WATER   CACTUS. 

fire,  as  well  as  an  axe  or  stout-bladed  knife,  would  find  it 
impossible  to  penetrate  one. 

There  is  but  one  method  of  dealing  with  the  spines,  and 
that  is  fire.  They  burn  like  tinder,  taking  fire  readily  from  a 
few  dead  leaves  or  straws  ignited  at  the  base  of  a  cactus  on 
the  windward  side.  The  flame  spreads  rapidly  from  spine  to 
spine,  consuming  them  instantly  with  a  fierce,  crackling 
blaze  ;  and  in  less  than  one  minute  both  fire  and  spines  have 
disappeared. 

Then  it  only  remains  to  chop  or  cut  a  segment  from  the  top 
of  the  now  denuded  cylinder,  and  scoop  out  a  basin  in  the  soft, 
spongy  interior.  By  continued  pounding  with  the  back  of  the 
axe,  water  enough  will 
ooze  into  the  hollow  to 
satisfy  the  thirst  of  twenty 
men. 

Should  the  searcher 
after  water  be  provided 
only  with  a  knife,  as  is 
generally  the  case,  the  job 
of  effecting  an  entrance 

,  The  Water  Cactus. 

is  long   and   tedious,  for 

the  tough  rind  cuts  no  more  easily  than  a  tin  fruit-can ;  in 
fact,  it  is  more  difficult  to  cut,  as  it  does  not  present  so  firm  a 
resistance  to  the  knife. 

The  entire  inner  portion  of  the  cactus  somewhat  resembles 
the  white  of  a  watermelon  in  consistency,  but  is  more  springy 
and  fluffy.  One  may  squeeze  water  from  it  as  from  a  sponge, 
water,  too,  that  is  quite  cold  and  refreshing,  so  impervious  is 
the  tough  skin,  even  to  the  blistering  heat  of  the  sun,  that 
may  have  been  beating  down  on  the  plant  all  day. 

Those  who  have  never  suffered  thirst  on  a  scorching  desert 
cannot  readily  imagine  the  delicious  sensation  experienced  in 
squeezing  a  lump  of  this  cold,  snow-white  cactus  heart  in  the 
mouth,  when  one's  throat  is  on  fire  and  one's  lips  parched 
and  swollen. 


THE   WATER   CACTUS. 


251 


It  must  be  acknowledged,  however,  that  this  cactus- water 
is  really  palatable  only  when  one  is  extremely  thirsty.  One 
summer,  while  prospecting  a  difficult  mountain-range  where 
no  other  water  could  be  obtained,  I  depended  for  nearly  3 
week  on  these  cacti  alone ;  and  I  grew  so  weary  of  it  that 
I  almost  preferred  going  thirsty. 

Ihe  water,  when  first  obtained,  has  a  whitish,  smoky  tint, 
though  it  settles  clear  as  crystal  in  an  hour  or  two.  It  has  a 
flavor,  when  one  is  not  thirsty,  somewhat  like  raw  potatoes. 
This  becomes  extremely  disagreeable  after  a  while,  and  is  not 
removed  by  boiling ;  though  it  is  not  noticeable  in  tea  or 
coffee,  nor  in  bread. 

However,  beggars  cannot  be  choosers  ;  and  one  who  is 
reduced  to  the  necessity  of  partaking  of  this  cactus  beverage 
is  not  generally  in  a  critical  mood. 

P.   C. 


Government   Camels. 

It  is  not  generally  known,  or  not  generally  remembered, 
that  the  United  States  Government  at  the  close  of  the  Civil 
War  was  the  proprietor  of  sixty-five  or  more  camels,  which 
were  kept  at  the  abandoned  military  post  of  Camp  Verde, 
about  fifty  miles  west  of  San  Antonio,  Texas. 

These  camels  were  chiefly  the  descendants  of  a  herd 
imported  some  years  before  by  the  government  as  an 
experiment  to  test  their  adaptability  as  pack-animals  for 
frontier  service.  Should  it  prove  successful,  it  was  proposed 
to  utilize  them  for  many  purposes  in  which  the  long-suffering 
mule  had  hitherto  been  employed. 

The  results  of  the  experiment  were  satisfactory,  and  it  is 
not  easy  to  see  why  it  was  abandoned.  Possibly  the  breaking 
out  of  the  war  had  much  to  do  with  it.  The  government  had 
much  graver  questions  to  consider  than  that  of  supplanting 
the  veteran  mule  by  these  ships  of  the  desert.  It  was 
generally  admitted  that  these  animals  were  peculiarly 
adapted  to  the  wants  of  the  army,  and  especially  to  the 
cavalry  branch  of  it. 

Not  only  were  they  capable  of  carrying  with  ease  double 
a  mule's  load,  but  they  were  in  many  other  respects  superior 
as  pack-animals.  They  could  subsist,  and  even  thrive,  where 
a  mule  would  starve,  and  they  required  water  only  once  a 
week. 

Another  great  recommendation  for  the  frontier  was  the 
impossibility  of  stampeding  them.  As  a  test,  men  hid 
themselves  in  the  bushes,  and  as  the  camels  came  along 
rushed  out  suddenly,  shouting  and  firing  pistols.  The  camels 
viewed  these  demonstrations  with  an  expression  of  supreme 
disgust,  merely  turned  their  heads  to  one  side,  and  continued 
their  stately  march  unmoved. 

During   the  war  these   animals  were   cared    for  by   the 


GOVERNMENT   CAMELS.  253 

Confederate  Government.  They  were  not  utilized  in  any  way 
that  I  ever  heard  of,  but  were  simply  kept  stabled  in  the 
old  cavalry  corrals  at  Camp  Verde,  in  charge  of  the  same 
attendants  employed  by  the  United  States  Government  before 
the  surrender  of  its  property  to  the  Confederates. 

Major  King  and  myself  found  ourselves  detailed,  with 
fifty  men,  for  a  tour  of  three  weeks  in  the  vicinity  of  Camp 
Verde,  to  report  especially  on  the  number  and  condition  of 
the  government  camels,  which  had  been  so  long  lost  sight  of. 
The  old  post  of  Camp  Verde  is  beautifully  situated  in  the 
Bandera  hills,  and  in  former  times,  when  regularly  garrisoned, 
must  have  been  a  delightful  station. 

At  the  time  of  our  arrival,  however,  the  first  troops  since 
the  withdrawal  of  the  garrison  in  1861,  everything  was  in  the 
most  dilapidated  state.  Officers'  and  men's  quarters  and  the 
hospital  building  were  the  homes  of  numerous  herds  of  goats. 
Destruction  and  decay  reigned  supreme,  where  once  neatness 
and  the  strictest  order  had  prevailed.  The  only  part  of  the 
post  that  seemed  to  have  survived,  in  a  measure,  the  neglect 
of  years,  were  the  cavalry  stables,  which  were  now  occupied 
by  the  sixty-five  camels. 

As  our  detail  of  fifty  men  filed  round  to  the  open  side  of 
the  corral,  every  camel  made  a  rush  for  the  picket  fence, 
which  was  the  barrier  on  that  side.  Thrusting  their  long 
necks  over  the  paling  as  far  as  possible,  they  stared  with  the 
stoniest  of  stares  at  the  unusual  sight  of  a  company  of  cavalry, 
at  the  same  time  uttering  their  peculiar  guttural  sound,  which, 
in  sixty-five  different  keys,  made  the  most  unearthly  din. 

The  effect  on  the  horses  of  the  command  was  electrical, 
and  in  the  highest  sense  ludicrous.  Every  one  seemed 
possessed  with  the  insane  desire  to  walk  on  his  hind  legs  and 
spar  the  air  with  his  forefeet.  Many  men  were  thrown,  while 
with  others  the  horses,  wild  with  terror,  took  the  bit  in  their 
teeth  and  made  a  clean  bolt  with  their  riders  across  the 
prairie.  A  more  demoralized  body  of  troopers  could  not  have 
been  found  during  the  hottest  battle  of  the  war. 


254 


GOVERNMENT   CAMELS. 


Not  for  some  time  could  the  scattered  men  and  horses  be 
got  together  and  something  like  order  restored,  and  it  was 
several  days  before  the  horses  and  camels  became  reconciled 
to  each  other,  but  they  finally  got  on  good  terms  and  occupied 
the  same  stable  during  our  stay  at  the  post. 

The  camels  afforded  us  the  greatest  amusement.  The  first 
evening  of  our  arrival  Major  King  and  I  strolled  down  to  the 


The  Approach  of  Old  Frances. 


stable  to  look  at  the  menagerie,  and  while  in  the  corral 
watching  the  feeding  process  Major  King  lighted  his  pipe. 
After  he  had  taken  a  whiff  or  two,  an  immense  camel,  or 
dromedary,  one  of  the  original  herd,  was  observed  coming 
directly  toward  us,  with  most  solemn  and  stately  tread,  and 
with  eyes  fixed  and  immovable. 

Old  Frances,  for  that  was  the  name  of  this  beast,  was  a 


GOVERNMENT  CAMELS.  255 

most  formidable-looking  object.  We  stood  our  ground  for  a 
moment  and  then  retired  a  little ;  as  this  towering  presence 
continued  to  advance,  apparently  as  resistless  as  fate,  we 
became  wholly  demoralized,  like  our  horses,  and  bolted  out 
of  the  corral. 

A  shout  of  laughter  from  one  of  the  keepers  called  a  halt. 
We  were  informed  that  we  were  in  no  danger,  and  that 
Old  Frances  only  wanted  a  smoke,  which  proved  to  be  the 
fact.  We  were  also  told  that  some  camels  were  very  fond  of 
tobacco-smoke,  and  would  follow  any  one  about  who  was 
smoking. 

After  we  had  found  out  the  cause  of  Old  Frances' 
attention,  we  gave  her  all  the  smoke  she  wanted.  To  place 
the  bowl  of  the  pipe  in  her  nostril  and  blow  hard  through  the 
stem  seemed  to  have  the  best  effect.  She  would  give  a  loud 
snort,  and  throwing  her  head  back  almost  on  her  hump, 
would  curl  up  her  lip,  close  her  eyes,  and  seem  lost  in  an 
ecstasy  of  enjoyment.  Two  rounds  of  this  smoking  business 
fully  satisfied  her,  and  nothing  could  induce  her  to  indulge 
again  until  after  several  hours  had  passed. 

These  camels  were,  with  one  exception,  as  gentle  as  sheep. 
The  children  of  the  keepers  played  among  them  with  perfect 
safety,  and  often  climbed  on  the  backs  of  the  younger  ones. 

The  only  vicious  one  was  the  huge  stallion,  Major,  who 
was  very  dangerous,  and  was  kept  securely  chained.  His 
chief  delight  was  to  kill  every  mule  he  could  get  at,  and  his 
method  of  doing  so  was  certainly  original.  He  would  place 
his  breast-bone  on  his  victim's  back,  and  by  throwing  forward 
his  great  weight,  would  crush  the  poor  brute  to  the  earth, 
and  break  its  back. 

Only  one  man  dared  lead  the  Major  to  water,  and  he  did 
not  do  it  unnecessarily  often.  This  performance  was  quite  a 
complicated  one,  for  the  Major  took  his  own  time.  He  would 
walk  a  few  steps,  then  stop  to  browse  a  few  moments,  and 
no  power  on  earth  could  induce  him  to  move  on  until  he 
was  ready.  A  little  farther  on  he  would,  perhaps,  rear  on 


256  GOVERNMENT   CAMELS. 

his  hind  legs  to  nip  the  foliage  of  a  live-oak  tree,  often 
reaching  to  an  astonishing  height  from  the  ground.  The 
man  in  charge  could  do  nothing  but  stand  meekly  by  until 
his  lordship  saw  fit  to  complete  the  trip.  This  watering 
process  generally  consumed  several  hours,  and  the  keeper 
thanked  his  stars  when  it  was  over. 

The  scene  in  the  morning,  when  the  camels  were  taken  out 
together,  was  quite  Oriental.  Sixty-five  strung  out  in  single 
file,  Old  Frances  in  the  lead  and  the  young  ones  bringing  up 
the  rear,  made  a  long  line.  One  could  always  tell,  without 
looking,  when  the  camels  were  out,  for  every  tethered  mule 
would  bray  and  tug  at  his  halter,  and  every  loose  animal 
would  charge  around  like  mad  till  the  camels  were  out  of 
sight. 

Orders  from  Washington  finally  came  to  sell  these  animals 
by  public  auction,  and  they  were  soon  disposed  of  at  a  very 
low  price,  chiefly  to  circus  and  menagerie  owners,  and  were 
dispersed  in  the  United  States  and  Mexico. 

A.  I.  PECK,  U.S.A. 


The  Youth's  Companion, 

Boston,  Mass. 


The  Youth's  Companion  is  an  illustrated  Family  Paper.  It 
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The  Youth's  Companion  as  a 
Supplementary  Reader. 


The  Companion  is  admirably  adapted  for  Supplementary 
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Selections  from  The  Youth's  Companion 
For  Supplementary  Reading. 


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One  fact  about  these  little  books  makes  them  particularly 
acceptable.  The  articles  were  not  prepared  for  use  in  schools,  but 
were  written  by  different  authors  for  the  general  reading  of  intelligent 
young  people.  They  are  choice  specimens  of  contemporary  literature. 
For  instance,  the  combined  edition  of  the  geographical  numbers, 
entitled  "By  Land  and  Sea,"  gives  pupils  an  opportunity  to  compare 
the  individual  styles  of  forty  or  fifty  authors.  Among  these  are 
Archdeacon  Farrar,  James  Parton,  Louise  Chandler  Moulton,  Joaquin 
Miller,  Hezekiah  Butterworth,  Julia  Ward  Howe,  S.  G.  W.  Benjamin 
and  other  noted  writers.  The  books  on  "  Our  Country  "  include  even 
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Selections  from  The  Youth's   Companion. 


SINGLE  NUMBERS. 
No.  1.    Stories  of  Purpose :  Patriotism,  Bravery  and  Kindness. 

No.  2.     Glimpses  of  Europe  :  Travel  and  Description. 
No.  3.     The  American  Tropics :  Mexico  to  the  Equator. 

No.  4.     Sketches  of  the  Orient:  Scenes  in  Asia. 
No.  5.    Old  Ocean :  Winds,  Currents  and  Perils. 

No.  6.    Life  in  the  Sea :  Fish  and  Fishing. 
No.  7.    Bits  of  Bird  Life :  Habits,  Nests  and  Eggs. 

No.  8.    Our  Little  Neighbors :  Insects,  Small  Animals. 
No.  9.    At  Home  in  the  Forest:  Wild  Animals. 

No.  10.    In  Alaska:  Animals  and  Resources. 
No.  11.    Among  the  Rockies:  Scenery  and  Travel. 

No.  12.    In  the  South-west:  Semi-Tropical  Regions. 
No.  13.    On  the  Plains:  Pioneers  and  Ranchmen. 

No.  14.    The  Great  Lake  Country :  A  Land  of  Progress. 
No.  15.     On  the  Gulf:  Attractive  Regions  of  Contrasts. 

No.  16.    Along  the  Atlantic :  New  York  to  Georgia. 
No.  17.    In  New  England:  The  Home  of  the  Puritans. 

No.  18.   Stories  of  Success  :  Skill, Courage, Perseverance. 
No.  19.     Stories  of  Kindness :  Examples  for  Rich  and  Poor. 

No.  20.    Student    Stories:  Life  in  School  and   College. 
Price  :  10  cents  each,  post-paid. 


BOUND   VOLUMES. 

By  Land  and  Sea.  A  Geographical  Reader,  comprising  Selections 
Nos.  2,  3,  4  and  5. 

Talks  about  Animals.  A  Natural  History  Reader,  comprising 
Selections  Nos.  6,  7,  8  and  9. 

Our  Country :  West.  A  Geographical  Reader,  comprising  Selec- 
tions Nos.  10,  ii,  12  and  13. 

Our  Country :  East.  A  Geographical  Reader,  comprising  Selections 
Nos.  14,  15,  16  and  17. 

Purpose  and  Success.  Some  of  the  Brightest  Companion  Stories, 
comprising  Selections  Nos.  i,  18,  19  and  20. 

Price :  50  cents  each,  post-paid. 
PERRY  MASON  &  CO.,  201  Columbus  Ave.,  BOSTON,  MASS. 


